Inside My Mind
by Esin of Sardis
Summary: Belle French wants nothing more than to be a writer. When an idea comes to her, it consumes her: it's a twist on the Snow White fairy tale and eerily similar to her own life… The story begins to consume her every thought, but is it really a story at all or something… more? Eventual Rumbelle, Snowing, Graham/Ruby. AU. Assume nothing…
1. A New Man In Town

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Once Upon A Time_. Neither do I own _Phantom of the Opera_, from which I got the title.**

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**Welcome! I've had this basic idea in progress for three years and the fanfic for several months, so I'm very excited to finally share it with you. All you need to know is that in this AU, all the characters from Once Upon A Time are normal people living in a normal town. Hope you enjoy :)**

**_Thanks to the most epic beta ever: elli.O. She's amazing. Seriously_**

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Lisabelle French took the key from the lock and returned it to her pocket. It had been a usual day. Nothing special. The Storybrooke Library was quiet most of the time. There weren't too many readers in the small town. Locking up always made her rather sad in a way. Turning the key on the books and leaving them behind in the night was like leaving a whole group of her dearest friends. She knew it was silly, but she'd always had a connection with books and stories.

Belle pulled her jacket a little closer against the light drizzle that had been falling all day. The walk from the library to Granny's diner was only a few blocks, so her best friend Ruby had asked her to stop by after work. Belle wasn't sure why Ruby was still a waitress there. All she did was complain about her grandmother's rules.

Ruby had always been a free spirit of a sort. She wore skin-tight, skimpy clothes and heavy makeup. The streaks in her hair changed color every few weeks—usually varying shades of red, her favorite color. She said what she thought and was perfectly happy to flirt with any man who walked her way. She hadn't ever had a steady boyfriend, but Belle was certain she'd been nursing a crush on Archie Hopper, the town psychiatrist, for a while now.

The diner was busy for a Tuesday night. It seemed that every seat was full and there was a small line at the register where Ruby seemed to have recruited Ashley Boyd to help.

When Belle walked in, Ruby waved to her over a customer's head, gesturing with her head towards an empty booth in the back. Belle grinned and gave Ruby a thumbs-up. She headed back to her seat, pausing to greet most of the people there. She was friendly with almost everyone. Granny and Billy the custodian both waved. Marco tipped his hat to her on his way out. Even Leroy gave her a smile (though that might just have been due to intoxication). She pulled out a book from her purse—_Le Fantôme de l'Opèra_ by Gaston Leroux— and settled down to wait.

"So," Ruby announced a few minutes later, sliding into the booth with two glasses of iced tea.

Belle placed her bookmark in and set the paperback down on the table. "Yes?" she asked. Ruby had a habit of starting conversations like this.

Ruby grinned and tugged her red-streaked hair out of the bun she'd kept it in for work. "Iced tea? You'll have to pay for it, but…"

"I'll take it." Belle tore the end off the straw wrapper and blew it at Ruby. She ignored her friend's protests about having to clean it up later and said, "Did you have something to tell me? Or did you ask me to come by for no reason?"

"Does a girl need a reason to want to see her best friend?" Ruby showed off her mastered fake pout.

"There's always a reason with you, Ruby Lucas," Belle said. "And don't think I don't realize you're making me pay for my own bribe with the iced tea."

"Alright," Ruby said, leaning forward and giving Belle a wide conspiratorial grin, her eyes shining with excitement. "There's someone new in town."

"Oh?" Belle said. She didn't want to sound too interested—Ruby could get the wrong idea from anything—but it was rare news for there to be strangers in Storybrooke. It was a small town miles off the main highway. No one came there if they didn't intend it as their destination. And there wasn't much in the way of tourist attractions around.

"You'll never guess who." Ruby sat back and grinned at Belle's confusion.

"I know them?"

Ruby nodded. "And let me just say: someone grew up _well_."

Belle laughed. There weren't many people she knew who had left Storybrooke, and even fewer who would consider returning. It narrowed down the possibilities for sure, but she had no clue who Ruby was talking about. "Just tell me!"

"Hey, guys! Sorry I'm late. Did I miss anything?"

Belle scooted over on the bench to make room for the third of their little trio of best friends, Mary Margaret Blanchard. She was tiny—though not so much as Belle—and her nearly black hair was cut in a cute pixie style. She still wore the slacks and a cardigan ensemble she wore for her job as a teacher at the town's elementary school.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Or at least, his sister will," Ruby said, smirking more than ever now.

Belle's mouth dropped open. "No," she said. "It can't be."

Ruby turned to Mary Margaret. "I was just telling Belle about our newcomer," she explained. "I've heard from… reliable sources that he's turned into quite the looker."

Mary Margaret giggled at Belle's expression. "I thought he was gone for good. Done with this town. All that. What happened?" Belle said.

"There was a bad ending to a relationship," Mary Margaret said. "He hasn't told me everything yet, but I haven't really seen him much."

"Seriously?" Belle said. "Your brother is back in Storybrooke?"

Ruby nodded. "Graham Blanchard is back in town. And he's already been given the position of Sheriff."

Belle took a long sip of her iced tea to give herself time to think. She hadn't seen Graham since he graduated from high school and left to go off to college and later, a police academy in Boston. Mary Margaret had seen him plenty over the years (late night Skypes, weekend trips to Boston, family gatherings) but he had never been around at the same time her two best friends were.

Graham had always been different. He was a bit of a loner and had preferred martial arts and archery to video games. He had never been happy staying put in their small town. Mary Margaret had often described him as having an insatiable wander-lust. He had settled down in Boston years before, working as a policeman. But now he was back. Suddenly, unexpectedly, and—according to Ruby—all grown up.

"Have you seen him?" Belle asked.

Ruby shook her head. "Not yet."

"Then how do you know what he looks like?"

"That's the good part." Ruby's grin only grew wider as she leaned over the table closer to Mary Margaret and Belle. "I was talking to Madelina Dormante when she came in for coffee this afternoon—you know her, she's the curly blonde who was always hanging around Regina Mills."

"Yeah, I think I've met her," Mary Margaret said. "She used to work at the Sheriff's station, right? She was the secretary."

"Right," Ruby said. "But she's not the secretary anymore."

"Why not?" Mary Margaret asked.

"I dunno. Maybe she got a job offer doing something else. It could be anything. But the new secretary in the Sheriff's office?" Ruby paused a moment for dramatic effect. "Is Regina."

"No," Mary Margaret gasped. "How'd she get that?"

"It makes sense," Belle said. "Her mother's the most powerful woman in town. Cora Mills gives Regina whatever she wants."

"It doesn't really matter," Ruby said. "The point is that she's the new secretary."

"But what does Her Royal Harpyness' new job have to do with Mary Margaret's brother?" Belle asked. She loved Ruby to death, but sometimes her explanations got a little off topic.

"Because Madelina also mentioned today that Regina simply cannot stop talking about a certain new superior of hers. Apparently, he's very handsome indeed."

Mary Margaret's face turned to one of disgust. "_Regina_ is checking out my _brother_?"

Belle grinned into her tea when Ruby's eye took on a mischievous glint. "Just because he's your brother doesn't mean the rest of us can't find him attractive, Mary Margaret."

"I don't mind if the rest of you are looking at him," Mary Margaret said. "But _Regina_…"

Ruby shook her head. "Trust me: we're looking."

"Maybe I didn't need to know that much. He is still my brother…"

"Now," Belle said, grinning at Mary Margaret's obvious discomfort with the topic of conversation, "what we really need to know is if the rumors are true. Is your brother this handsome?"

Mary Margaret opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to find something to say. "I mean, I suppose he is," she said. "Handsome, I mean. He's my brother. I don't really…"

"Mary. Margaret. Blanchard," Ruby said, her eyebrows rising into her hair and her lips twitching in their attempt to hide a smirk. "Just because you're his sister doesn't mean you don't have eyes. Is he as hot as everyone's saying?"

Belle looked back and forth between the two girls. She was usually the spectator in these sorts of things. Ruby and Mary Margaret were so different—sometimes it was hard to understand how they were even friends—and Belle was always much better at relating to books than people.

Mary Margaret was saved from having to answer Ruby's question when Belle giggled and nodded to the door of the diner. "He's as hot as everyone's saying all right."

The man who had just walked through the door was tall and tanned. His light brown hair curled a bit and he had a short beard that gave him a rather rugged look. He was still wearing his work clothes: blue shirt, brown vest, tie, and badge with a leather jacket thrown over the top. Gone was the skinny, misfit teenager that had left for college sixteen years ago. He looked more self-assured too, Belle thought. He had more confidence and sense of self in the way he walked and moved. He had grown up.

"What?" Ruby twisted around in her seat to look at the man who had just entered the diner. When she turned back around she looked straight at her two friends and said, "No. He's _much_ hotter than everyone was saying."

Belle tried to stifle her giggle and hide her smile in her iced tea while still sneaking glances at the new sheriff, who was ordering something to-go at the counter. It wasn't working too well. Belle hadn't had much experience with men. She'd dated a bit in high school and college, but after a few bad experiences had stopped trying to attract someone. And once she moved back to her hometown, there wasn't really anyone new to be interested in. Ruby was the one to talk about this sort of thing. Belle kept her love life confined within the pages of her books—where True Love won out and one always knew who was going to end up together far in advance. She'd had a few crushes and found enough men attractive to keep Ruby happy when she started an interrogation, but mostly stories were it for her. And mostly, she was fine with that.

Mary Margaret had a grin on her face as well as she watched Graham, but it wasn't the appraising one Ruby wore. It was pure, innocent love. Graham was four years older than her, but the two had always been close. Even when he was a senior and she just his tag-along kid sister, he had always made time to hang out with her. Belle could remember them going out for movies and ice cream. He'd always pay with the money he made from his part-time job and let her hang on his arm. Sure, they had their fights (red-faced, waking-the-whole-neighborhood fights) but they were best friends.

"At least it's the two of you and not Regina," Mary Margaret muttered, failing to sound truly annoyed with them.

Ruby nodded, not taking her eyes from Graham. "See? It's not that bad. At least Belle and I have hearts in our chests."

"I'm sure Regina has a heart," Mary Margaret protested. "It's just… hidden… deep, _deep_ down somewhere…"

Belle shook her head at Mary Margaret. She really was too kind sometimes. Sure, Belle would love to believe the best of Regina. But past experience had made that rather difficult.

Ruby tore her eyes from Graham for a minute to give Mary Margaret a pitying look. "Don't try to excuse her. She's done nothing but try to make your life miserable since we were children."

Mary Margaret opened her mouth to start the same old argument over again—Belle didn't know how many times she'd heard them discuss Mary Margaret's kindness to Regina—but thankfully they were cut off by a low, male voice with an Irish accent.

"Mary Margaret?"

Iced tea almost came spurting out of Belle's nose at the shocked and awed expression on Ruby's face. Belle was impressed as well and now infinitely glad she hadn't humiliated herself at first meeting. His voice was lovely. Belle didn't know where he'd picked up the accent, but it was gorgeous and Ruby obviously agreed.

"Graham!" Mary Margaret jumped up from her seat and threw her arms around her brother. He was a good six inches taller than her and lifted her up effortlessly to spin her around. He set her down gently on the floor and grinned.

"Do you want to join us?" she asked.

He shook his head and held up the brown paper bag of food. "I thought you and I could hang out tonight. It's my evening off."

Mary Margaret looked nervously back at Ruby and Belle. Belle grinned at her. "Shoo. Go hang out. We'll be fine here."

Ruby nodded. "Go have fun."

"Thanks guys." Mary Margaret turned back to Graham. "I'd love to hang out."

He grinned at his sister, his affection for her written clearly on his face with an equivalent of blue sharpie. Belle thought it only made him look more handsome.

Graham offered his sister his arm. "Then your carriage awaits you, princess."

Mary Margaret took his arm and walked with him out of the diner to the sheriff's car parked outside. Belle was rather impressed that he remembered the game they had played as children. It hadn't been often that the three girls had managed to convince Graham to play with them—he was much older and often either too cool or too busy. But the few times he had joined them, he had been the prince in their fairy tales. Or the dragon. Or the evil sorcerer. Or, one memorable time, the huntsman from 'Snow White'. Mary Margaret had always been a princess, with Belle and Ruby filling in whatever parts they needed.

Ruby turned in her seat to watch them—or rather, Graham—go. Once the door swung shut behind them, Ruby turned back slowly. "He. Is. So. Hot."

Belle burst out laughing. There was no better reaction, especially because she had been thinking the same thing.

"Seriously! Who gave him the right to have a voice like that?"

Belle only laughed harder. After a minute, she calmed down enough to say, "But what about Archie Hopper? The psychiatrist? I thought you were interested in him."

"I am. But you know Granny would never let me date him. She'd say he was too old."

"He's not that much older," Belle said. It was true, he was maybe a year or two older than Graham, but it wasn't that bad. At least it was better than—_no_, she wouldn't even think of that. She sometimes thought Ruby had a talent of mind-reading when it came to men. Even thinking about him would tip her off.

"Still, she'd come up with something wrong with him." Ruby twirled her straw around in her as of yet untouched iced tea.

"You'll find someone eventually," Belle said. "It will all work out in the end."

"Ruby!" Granny called from across the diner. "Ruby!"

Ruby cursed under her breath. "Speak of the devil," she muttered. "Coming, Granny!" she then called.

"I'll see you later, then?" Belle said, covering Ruby's hand with her own.

"Yeah." She got up. "Here. Take my iced tea. I don't want it anymore."

"Bye," Belle said, but Ruby had already left. She drained the last of her first iced tea before transferring her straw to Ruby's. Sighing, she pulled her book back out.

She barely got the chance to find her place again before someone slid into the bench opposite her.

"Good book?"

"Hello, August," Belle said without looking up. August W. Booth alternated between her best friend and the bane of her existence on a regular basis. He was annoying and arrogant and entirely too mysterious for his own good. But at the same time, he was the only other person in Storybrooke who seemed to understand her love of books. Like Belle, August was a writer.

"I suppose it's a good book," he muttered.

Belle set her book down on the table, keeping her finger between the pages to mark her spot. "What do you want, August?"

"I was just wondering if you'd made any progress on finding an idea."

Belle sighed. She'd been trying and failing to write for years. She'd get an idea and start it, but nothing ever stuck for long. She just couldn't find something that she was excited about. She had hundreds of unfinished manuscripts in her closet and even more scraps of paper with a few words that were never enough to get a story. So instead of a novelist, Belle was the town librarian.

Writing was her passion, but she just couldn't get something she was happy with. The few times she'd actually finished something, she'd gone back and fallen into despair over terrible writing or weak characters. There was just something missing, some spark that she still needed to find. But it was coming. She knew it. So Belle hoped and prayed that soon she would find the missing piece.

"Not really," she told August. "I'm still searching."

"I'm sorry," he said. Belle tried not to be angry at him. Mr. I've-got-a-book-published. It was nice of him to be so supportive of her, but sometimes she wished he'd stop pitying her. She didn't need or want his pity. No, what she needed and wanted was an idea.

"I keep writing little snippets of things, but they never turn out to anything." She took another sip of the iced tea, letting the cool liquid float over her tongue. She really shouldn't drink so much of the stuff, but it was irresistible.

August sat back in his seat. "Well, what do you want to write about?"

"That's the problem. I don't know. I don't even have a favorite type of book. I just like everything."

"Have you ever thought about doing something with fairy tales?"

"What?"

"Fairy tales. You probably heard them as a kid. Disney movies. All that. I actually remember you and your friends acting some of them out as children…"

"I know what fairy tales are," Belle interrupted.

August smirked. "I remember you having a particular love for them. So why not write a story that has fairy tales worked in?"

It was a good idea. Belle had always worked so hard to come up with a completely original idea—a feat that had proved difficult. All the ideas she came up with seemed to have already been used somewhere. But retelling one of the tales that had enchanted her childhood was a powerful notion indeed… if only she could figure out a good way to go about it…

"I'll think about it," she said. Sticking the bookmark in her spot, Belle replaced the paperback in her purse. "Thank you, but I really need to get going."

"Good luck," August said with that infuriating smirk of his. It was like he knew she had just fallen in love with his suggestion and also knew she didn't want to give him that satisfaction of telling him, but he was taking satisfaction anyway because he was just too damn smart.

So Belle left him at the table. She got the rest of the iced tea to-go from Ruby and left the diner for her small apartment on the other side of town. The sun had completely set and the drizzle had let up, but the sidewalk was still slick with rain. She walked carefully, so as not to slip, but it was difficult to concentrate on her feet while her mind was flying.

She was captivated with the idea of a story based on fairy tales. She had adored them as a child. She had read nearly every adaptation of "Beauty and the Beast" written. She had Andrew Lang's Fairy Books lined up on her mantelpiece at home. With all the love and inspiration she had gotten from these stories as a child, why not? She could even ignore the irksome fact that August had given her the idea.

Pieces of characters and plots swirled around her in her head. She could see the people that would be there. Snippets of conversations and ideas from long ago now surfaced and began to weave themselves together in the back of her mind. She wasn't sure where all this was coming from or how it got there or even how any of it related to the rest, but it was there. The onslaught tore through her mind at dizzying speed, each thought coming up with new ideas. More and more. It felt like a burning in her chest, and she was lightheaded like she was high on something.

_This_ was why she loved writing. She remembered that now.

She got out her cell phone to call Mary Margaret to tell her about this idea, but then stopped, a grin spreading on her face. No. She would write this first. As beautiful as it all seemed right now, she didn't want to ruin her chances by spilling the beans too early. She would go home and write. She'd tell everyone once she had a start.

She hurried home, a secret smile on her face, not even thinking to sneak a glance into the shop on the corner to see if he was still there.

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Mr. Gold spent most of his evenings in his pawn shop on the corner of Main Street. He had no reason to close up early and head home—there was no one there anyway. So he meticulously dusted and polished the objects in his care, occasionally nursing a drink as he worked.

He was polishing an ornate, square, brass hand-mirror when she walked by that night. He didn't know much about her, this Lisabelle French. She was a writer and a librarian. Her brown hair curled down her back and she wore skirts and had the loveliest blue eyes he'd ever seen.

And she would always look in the window of his shop.

Gold knew even though she tried to hide it. She'd sneak a glance and then pretend to have never looked at all whenever she walked past on her way to and from the library. But her eyes were always too fixed on the sidewalk in front of her, her gait always too stiff for it to really be believable.

And he would always look back through the window at her.

Her cheeks would redden with a delightful little blush when their eyes met. His lips would quirk up and bit in a half-smile. But then she would force her eyes away and back toward the sidewalk, trying to hide her own smile. If she was carrying a book—she often was—she'd clutch is closer to her chest, as if it would protect her from her own emotion. He would shake his head once she was gone, but he would not completely be able to banish the sight of her from his mind and return to his work.

Those were rare days. Often, their eyes didn't meet as they snuck glimpses at each other through the pawnshop window.

But tonight her head didn't even turn in his direction.

She was staring at her feet, trying to manage her heels on the wet pavement. (He had never understood how she could wear those things. Yes, she was a small girl, but the heels seemed an awfully heavy price to pay for a little more height.) Her jacket was pulled tight around her body, but it was no help for her bare legs below the knee-length skirt she wore. Her hair was especially frizzy with the damp, but he found it endearing more than anything else.

Yet all of that paled compared to the expression on her face.

It was like a brilliant light had been lit behind her eyes. Her mouth barely curved up, but Gold could tell it was all she could do to restrain her exuberance. Her lips moved quickly—she was whispering to herself. He could practically hear her mind whirring.

He knew that look.

She had the idea.

It had all begun.

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**Thank you so much and hope to see you soon for Chapter Two. I'd be happy to answer any questions you have and please leave a review before you go!  
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	2. A Land At War

**Disclaimer: I do not own the lands of Anorien or Firthana. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and Kate Constable, I'm just borrowing the names.**

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**Thank you to all my reviewers. It means a lot :) And also thank you to elli.O. who is an epic beta and made the cover photo.**

_**Note: "Graeme" and "Graham" are pronounced the same. "Graeme" is just a more archaic spelling.**_

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Belle's apartment was on the outskirts of Storybrooke. It wasn't even a proper apartment, really, but a finished two-room basement. The couple "upstairs" didn't need the extra space and rented it out to Belle for a decent price provided she didn't try to host wild parties.

The entrance was around back, where there were stairs down to a second patio. Belle let herself in and flipped on the dim light.

The main room of the apartment was lined with bookshelves filled to bursting point. A small table, an over-stuffed and patched sofa, and a desk were squished in where there was space. There was a small hallway in the back that led to a kitchen area and the stairs up to the main house. Two doors led off the room: one to the bathroom and the other to the bedroom.

Sitting down at the desk, Belle opened her laptop, humming mindlessly as the machine woke. Despite the caffeine from her tea, her eyes were heavy. But she could not sleep yet. Not with these words filling her mind and clawing at her fingertips in their need to be released.

The new document came up on the screen. Belle sighed and sat back in her seat. Her fingers hovered over the keys for a second, and then she began to type…

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Prologue: Princess Snow White

Once upon a time there lived a princess. Her name was Snow White. She had hair as black as ebony, lips as red as blood, and skin as white as snow.

And she was a child of war.

The Fourth Ogre War had been raging since before she was born. Her earliest memories were of the commissioning and the funerals of soldiers. From early childhood, she was taught strategy and troop direction. She was assigned to learn from the kingdom's finest sword-masters and bowmen. All the while she was instructed carefully in decorum, music, and penmanship.

Life wasn't easy for her. Her home was always on the move, her adopted sister tried to kill her, battles raged over her lands and killed her people. She found siblings and friends in the unlikeliest of places and buried both her parents. But she eventually found her happy ending.

His name was Prince James—or, as she called him, Charming. He was the son of King George of the neighboring kingdom of Firthana and her father's ally in the Ogre War. They had married young and spent all their years together fighting beside one another against their enemy under his father's direction.

Snow White and Prince Charming had their happily ever after, but their story had barely begun.

Chapter One—

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"_I'm in love with a fairytale, even though it hurts. 'Cause I don't care if I lose my mind—I'm already cursed."_

Belle was jerked out of the story by her cell phone. The word _Dad_ flashed across the screen at her. She picked it up and grinned.

"Hey Dad," she said, pinning the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she got up. She vaguely wondered if she had anything to eat. Iced tea was not a proper dinner by any means.

"Lizzy, how are you?" Her father sounded his usual gruff, but cheerful self. Even though he ran a flower shop there in town, Belle didn't see him often.

"Fine," she said. "I'm working on a new story." Her fridge was looking depressingly empty. There was a jar of pickles. And some soda. She really needed to do some shopping.

"That sounds great, Lizzy darling. Are you still working at the library?"

Belle sighed. She loved her dad, but he didn't try very hard to understand her. He had never approved of her passion for writing or her job as a librarian. Sure, he wanted her to succeed, but to Belle that didn't mean she had to go to a fancy college she couldn't pay for to get a fancy job she didn't want. And he still called her Lizzy. She hated that. It was Belle. Or Lacey, but only her mother had called her that. "Lacey" and "Lizzy" were two very different names: acceptable and unacceptable.

"Yes, Dad. It's going well. We have a new children's story time," she said. He wouldn't be interested in any of this, but Belle was going to tell him anyway. Maybe he'd take a hint that she was happy. "I'm reading them _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_."

"That sounds wonderful, honey."

Belle seized the jar of peanut butter she found in the back of the cupboard. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. "Listen, Dad, I was in the middle of some work, so is there a reason you called…?"

"I was just checking up on you. I hadn't seen you in a while."

"I've been busy. I'm sorry."

"Geoffrey Stoddard was asking about you the other day."

Belle suppressed a groan. That idiot had been after her since high school and didn't seem to understand the meaning of the word "no". And sadly, her father didn't seem to understand that she just wasn't interested.

"Well you can tell him to get lost," she said. "I'm tired of telling him no."

"Lizzy, he's a nice man. He'd be good for you. Just give him a chance—"

"Dad. No. I'm not going to discuss this again."

"Lizzy."

"You know what? I have work to do. I'll talk to you later." She hung up before he could respond and turned her phone to silent. Frustration boiled her chest. This night had been going so well. She took a spoonful of peanut butter and licked it like an ice cream cone while she concentrated on calming down. Writing angry was a surefire way to ruin an idea.

Soon both the peanut butter and her anger were mostly gone. Belle sat back at her computer, trying to regain the excitement and inspiration that had been dashed by her father's phone call.

* * *

The Castle was the stronghold of the Enchanted Forest. In all the years of war, the ogres had never even come close to its walls. From its great hall, King George directed every movement of every battalion in the armies of the Enchanted Forest. It towered over the trees, visible for miles off from its place on an outcropping in the sea. And to Snow White, it was home.

They had just come out of the forest as she came up beside her husband and slipped her hand into his. He squeezed it gently, not saying a word, but betraying his nerves to her all the same. They were all exhausted, it was too difficult to stay completely in control. And Snow could read him better than anyone.

Two days before, they had received a message from the King, asking for his son's scouting company to return to the Castle with all haste. No reason or explanation was given, leaving them to assume the worst. They hadn't been too far, only in the uncharted west-lands, trying to spy on the ogres' camps down there. It had been two long days on foot to return home, but the unexpected message had been enough cause for alarm to make them hurry. The Castle in front of them only made everything seem so much more real. It was easy to forget the rest of the politics of war when they were out on a mission, just them and their five best warriors and the forest. And the enemy.

"We'll be alright," Snow whispered. "Whatever it is, we'll get through it. Together."

Charming smiled a bit and raised their joined hands to kiss her palm. "Thank you."

Snow could hear soft giggles from behind her at Charming's display of affection. Of course Red and Belle were listening in to everything they said. The two girls might be her best friends, but they could also be annoying whenever they wished.

Snow and Red had been friends since childhood, even though there were miles of class distance between them. Though she was born the daughter of a blacksmith in a small village, Red's "talent" had landed her the coveted position in the Prince's elite company. She was an excellent tracker and fighter without the power of the wolf within her and nearly unstoppable with it.

Belle was the princess of the small kingdom of Avonlea, which had fallen years before to the ogre masses. She seemed diminutive and bookish at first, but her innocent façade hid a fierce swordsman and a brilliant strategist beneath. She was not a woman to be underestimated, though so many did.

Snow looked back over her shoulder and mock-glared at her friends. Red waved cheekily back though Belle had the decency to look abashed.

"Don't you have a sweetheart of your own to walk with, Belle?" Snow asked. A light blush grew on Belle's cheeks as she let go of Red's arm with a smile. Red grinned and pushed Belle back towards her sweetheart, the Huntsman of Anorien, who walked alone in front of the last two members of their company.

Graeme was easily both the best tracker and warrior in the Enchanted Forest. He had been raised by wolves, but had become like a brother to Snow White and agreed to join their ranks to protect her. He and Belle had fallen in love in their early adolescence. Snow thought they were a sweet couple. Her best friend and her all-but brother.

"You know," Charming leaned down to whisper in Snow's ear, "Every day I am more and more grateful your Huntsman is smitten with Belle."

"Oh?" Snow said casually.

"Yes. The more he's thinking about her, the less he's thinking up creative ways to murder me for doing _this_." He leaned down a pressed a soft kiss to his wife's lips.

Snow laughed lightly. Graeme had embraced the protective side of brotherhood eagerly. He had been quite wary of Charming in the beginning, but had warmed up to him after he saw that if anyone was going to take care of Snow White besides himself, it would be Prince James of Firthana. Still, he enjoyed creatively threatening Charming with bodily harm at every opportunity.

Soon enough, they crossed the drawbridge from the forest into the town around the Castle. The guards at the gate saluted Charming and Snow, who returned the gesture. They entered the city with its hustle and bustle—even if a state of war, business carried on.

The crowds of people and soldiers parted to let their Prince and his company through as they entered the Castle courtyard. Prince James was the hero of the war, beloved of all the people. His princess was beautiful and strong, loved as well. The five warriors following them were the strongest and bravest of them all.

Snow acknowledged their cheers and bows with a smile and small nods, holding her husband's hand in her left and waving with her right. True, they were no celebrity show, but the people had so little hope that Snow couldn't just march through with her head held high and straight ahead. The sight of them returning from war—even if it was only a reconnaissance mission—without major wounds to show for it was reassuring. A smile in the face of it worked magic.

A page met them at the entrance to the great hall with a bow. "Your Highnesses, the King wishes to speak with you in his private office. If you will accompany me…"

"There is no need," Charming said, his voice now strong and disguising any trepidation he felt at the mention of a private meeting. "We know our way. Please see to it that my men are settled in their usual rooms."

The page bowed and murmured that he would be glad to do so as Snow and Charming continued up to the King's private rooms. Outside the door to the office, Snow kissed Charming's cheek for encouragement. The doors opened, and the couple stepped inside.

King George was a hard man, a hard king, and most of all, a hard father. Charming's hand was cold in hers as he and Snow came to stand in front of the great desk.

The King himself was standing with his back to them, staring out the window at the great expanse of the Enchanted Forest.

"You wanted to see me, Father?" Charming said, not letting a hint of nerves into his voice. Weakness was never something one could afford to show in front of King George, even if one happened to be the King's son.

"James," the King said coldly. "You have taken your time returning home."

Snow bristled at the disapproval in her father-in-law's tone. They had done the best they could! How dare he suggest otherwise—Her thoughts were cut off when Charming squeezed her hand. Losing her temper wouldn't win them any favors.

"I came as quickly as I could after receiving your message," Charming said. His emotionless words made no attempt to plead or apologize.

The King turned to fix his son with a piercing gaze. Charming refused to flinch, which seemed to pass his father's examination. "Snow White," the King said, turning from his son. "A pleasure to see you again."

"Just as always, Your Majesty," Snow said, trying not to let irritation lace her voice. King George had never approved of her. He had wanted his son to marry King Midas' daughter, Abigail, but couldn't truly object to Snow's status when her father approached him with the tale of their children's love.

"What is all this about, Father?" Charming asked. "Your message gave no details."

The King motioned for them to sit in the chairs opposite the desk. "For many years, James, I have given you considerable freedom. You have been allowed to choose your bride, your soldiers, and your missions. And I have been pleased with you, for the most part. You are a hero and a worthy Prince."

"Thank you, Father."

"But your time as a Prince is drawing to a close. I am growing old, my son. Soon, I will pass the crown on to you. And when that day comes, you must be ready for it."

Snow could almost see her husband's happiness from his father's praise fade away at the foreboding in the King's words. "Yes, Father," he said.

"You will go on one last mission. Then you will return home and your training will begin. You leave in the morning."

"Father—"

"Your wife will stay as well. You will use this mission to choose your successor as leader of your company. Lady Regina of Eareamath or Princess Belle of Avonlea should do nicely."

"Father—"

"Please inform your company of this tonight. I want you to leave in the morning. See if you can find the band of ogres that has been terrorizing the villages along the northern border and take them out."

"Father!"

King George looked up from his desk in surprise. It was almost as if he had forgotten he actually had a son and was talking to him.

"I cannot do this," Charming said. "I cannot leave the front. We are short of men as it is. I cannot sit back at my Castle while my people are dying in war. I must be out there with them."

"You have fought on the front for years. Now you must learn your role as prince. You will be no use to these men in the future if you do not learn to be King now. There will be no compromise. Go. Tell your company."

Charming opened his mouth to argue, Snow laid a hand on her husband's arm. As much as they both wanted to rant and rave at his father, she knew it would only make the King less willing to be reasonable later. They would want his good will when they returned, so now was not the time to lose it.

"Of course, _Father_," Charming said bitterly, standing and giving a short, stiff bow. Snow plastered a smile on her face and gave the King the best curtsy she could manage in pants before following Charming out of the room.

Charming waited until they were in their rooms before letting his emotions loose. His fist hit the wall with a sickening crunch, his knuckles splitting and blood staining the stone wall scarlet.

* * *

Belle came out of her washroom to find Graeme stretched out on her couch. He was still wearing his long hunting cloak and his boots, obviously too sacked out to remove them after weeks on alert for ogres. He didn't sleep well out there. He was a natural hunter and being the hunted instead made him nervous.

"Comfortable there?" she asked lightly, pulling her towel up to preserve her modesty as she took a blue day dress from her wardrobe.

"Very," Graeme murmured sleepily, opening one eye to look her over.

Belle giggled and ducked behind the screen in the corner so she could dress privately. "You do have your own room and bed, you know."

Graeme groaned in response, closing his eyes so he could go back to sleep. Belle knew he hated his rooms. He had been raised in the wild forests. The enclosed luxuries that had been given to him as Snow White's adopted brother were prison chains to him. As far as Belle knew, he had never actually slept in those rooms. He was much more at ease dozing in her or Snow's antechamber as a guard, whether or not his presence was needed or desired.

Once she was dressed, Belle came out and knelt by her sweetheart's side. Slowly, so as not to wake him too early, she reached over to kiss his sleeping lips. He looked so young and peaceful in his sleep. The hard lines and care that usually characterized his face softened, taking away the rough ferocity of the Huntsman and leaving behind Graeme, the boy she fell in love with and the man he had become.

His sleeping face twitched at the touch of her lips. Smirking, she kissed him again, slowly and deeply. She didn't really realize he was completely awake and kissing her back until he sat up enough to lift her up onto his lap, never breaking the kiss.

"You awake yet?" she whispered between kisses.

"Not quite."

Belle grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands were in her hair, which was still wet from the bath. He continued to kiss her over and over, sweet touches filled with every ounce of his affection for her. They had been together for years and still she could never tire of the delightful taste of him or the feel on his lips over hers.

There was a sharp knock at the door. Belle and Graeme sprang apart. Belle's face turned red and she combed out her mussed curls with her fingers. "Come in!" she said as brightly as she could.

A page came in and bowed—even if her kingdom, her Avonlea, had been in ashes for years, she was still a princess. The boy looked rather uncomfortable, obviously guessing what he had interrupted. "Prince James and Princess Snow have requested the two of you to join them in their rooms."

* * *

By the next evening when Belle stopped by at the diner, Ruby had collected everything there was to know about Graham Conor Blanchard.

Apparently, he was six feet tall (exactly), studied at the Boston Police Academy after getting an English degree from the University of Maine at Presque Isle, played Bon Jovi in the squad car when no one was around (Belle had to wonder how Ruby knew this if _no one was around_), only left Boston recently because of a bad breakup with the girl he had been dating, played in a band in college, and had a secret love for pixie sticks.

Belle was sure Ruby could keep going on, but she held up a hand for her friend to stop. Ruby was technically still working and Granny would get mad if she caught her standing around exchanging gossip with Belle over the counter.

"Wait," she said. "You found all of this out in the past twenty-four hours?"

Ruby bit her lip in a sheepish grin. "Yeah?"

Belle wasn't sure what to say. This far surpassed Ruby's usual standard for gossip. But, at the same time, Belle found herself wondering why she was surprised. She began to laugh.

"Come on," Ruby said. "Don't deny it. You think he's just as hot as I do."

Belle giggled and refused to meet Ruby's eye. She really didn't want to discuss her instant attraction to the handsome sheriff. She traced an old stain on the counter with her fingertip.

"You do!" Ruby gasped. "I knew it. Well?"

Belle uselessly tried to fight the heat rising in her cheeks. "I suppose he's quite handsome."

Ruby grinned. Belle knew admitting would end like this. She hadn't ever admitted to actually thinking someone was attractive before. She'd always been more caught up with the heroes in her books than real men. Only on her way to and from work did she ever allow the thought that she might be interested in someone cross her mind. Until last night, that is.

"I don't even want to know where you got all that information, by the way," Belle said, shaking her head at Ruby and hoping her friend would allow her to change the conversation.

"Regina—" Ruby started.

"Now I really don't want to know," Belle interrupted. She leaned on the counter to take some of the weight off her feet. These heels were killing her. "Look, I want to try to write a bit tonight. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Do you have an idea?" Ruby asked.

Belle shook her head. "No. I'm just going to see if something comes to me."

"Well, good luck then."

Belle gave Ruby a tight smile and headed out of the diner, another iced tea in her hand. She wasn't sure why she didn't want to tell her friend about the idea she had. Maybe it was because August practically gave it to her, maybe it was something else. She just felt the need to keep it inside her, close to her heart. It was as if telling someone would break the spell it had on her and it would fly out of her head. But it couldn't be that. Of course not. Because that would be ridiculous.

"He did _what?__"_

If Charming's announcement hadn't been of such a grave nature, Belle might have laughed at Red's outraged cry.

It had seemed routine when Charming had asked them all to come to his and Snow's private drawing room. They would often meet there after a mission to debrief and get any further instructions. Even more, they were all best friends. It was completely normal to spend an evening talking and laughing up in the private chambers, away from the politics downstairs.

Until Charming recounted his conversation with his father. Then it hadn't been so routine anymore.

"He can't just do this, can he?" Belle asked. "We've only just returned. Don't we have at least a week before he can send us out again?"

Charming sighed and sat down on the arm of Snow's chair. He looked despairingly around at his friends seated around the room. "He's the King. He can do whatever he wishes."

Belle laced her fingers through Graeme's. This was to be Charming's last mission. They had hoped for some time at the Castle before heading out again. The mission they had returned from had been simple in theory, but their path had been a grueling trek through the mountains. The prospect of a proper meal and warm bed had been a welcome one even for Graeme.

Everyone exchanged worried looks. This was unexpected. It was unlike the King to play outside his own rules. This could not bode well for any of them. Snow and Charming were obviously trying to stay strong for them—Red looked close to tears. Graeme's hand was tight around Belle's. Even Lady Regina looked solemn.

With a small cough, the last member of their company stepped out of his corner.

"I don't mean to interrupt such a serious moment, but does this mean the King intends to send all of us out on our merry ways after this as well?"

Belle tried not to show how impressed she was with him for asking a serious question for once. He—Killian Jones, notorious unwillingly-reformed pirate, most commonly known by his more colorful moniker: "Hook"—was rarely serious. Belle had wondered why Charming recruited him in the first place for a while. Then she had seen him use a sword. He was a master—an artist

"No. It does not," Charming said. "Snow and I will be required to stay, but the rest of you will continue on. That's part of the reason the King is giving us this last mission."

"And how is that?" Regina asked, ever the impatient one.

"The King wants me to choose who will my successor as leader of this company. This mission is to be a test as well."

"So any of us can be chosen?" Graeme obviously did not want it to be him. He was only reluctantly part of this in the first place; he had no desire to lead it.

"His Majesty has made it clear that he will only accept either Lady Regina or Princess Belle," Snow said. Her irritation at the King laced her tone. Belle had always pitied her friend's relationship with her father-in-law. The two were always at odds about something with poor Charming stuck in the middle.

Belle nearly laughed at the obvious relief etched on the faces of Graeme, Hook, and Red, but then she caught sight of the hungry glint in Regina's eye. The other girl wanted this. Badly.

Belle, Snow, and Regina had grown up in the same castle after Belle and Regina were forced out of their own lands. Belle had seen firsthand Regina's vicious competitive streak. They had still been young girls when she had tried to kill Snow over a boy. After Daniel had died in her misplaced attack, Regina had never been quite the same. But she was one of the few skilled sorceresses in the kingdom, so she was part of their company. Belle's eyes met Snow's across the room. Snow had seen it too. They were both thinking the same thing:

Regina was determined to win. Either way it ended, it wouldn't be good for Belle.


	3. A One-Handed Man

**To everyone who is reading, reviewing, following, and favoriting this story: you guys make my day. :) I could go on about how much I love you for a while, but you're here for the story, not to listen to me getting mushy.  
**

**elli.O. is still an epic beta and the song in this chapter is the first verse of her original composition for this song. (I think she's psychic or something-the full song fits perfectly with parts of the story I haven't told her yet...) So thank you to her :)**

* * *

Prince Charming and Snow White's chambers emptied slowly. There was limited time before their return banquet that evening. A few hours of sleep would make all the difference between a pleasant time and a miserable one. Before Graeme could escape back to Belle's rooms with her, Charming motioned for him to stay.

"Is there something more?" the Huntsman asked.

"No," Charming said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I just thought I'd mention that the King is in a rather good mood right now. We're leaving in the morning, so if you intend to… make your request before then, now would be a good time."

"Why would he be in a good mood?"

Snow laughed darkly. "Because he likes winning."

* * *

The soft ding of the bell rang through the library. Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, catching on the dust particles that lazily floated through the air. Belle set the books she'd been shelving back on the cart and smoothed down her skirt before heading out to the lobby. She smiled when she found Mary Margaret leaning against the circulation desk.

"What are you doing back here?" she asked, reaching over the books on the desk to unlock the computer. She glanced over the scene she'd been writing and switched it back to the proper library screen before Mary Margaret could see her idea. "Did one of the children leave something here again?" She fished in her dress pocket for the ring of library keys. "I can unlock the story-time room."

"Not this time," Mary Margaret said. "I just wanted you to know that Ruby called me earlier today."

Belle grinned. "And?"

"Apparently she was talking to my brother last night and convinced him to come to that thing at Granny's tonight," she said, shaking her head in exasperation her their friend.

"When did this happen? And what thing at Granny's?" Belle usually tried to stay on top of this sort of thing. Ruby always made sure to tell her about events at the diner that she and Mary Margaret were expected to attend as Ruby's friends. But the last few days had been consumed with her story, not her expected social life.

"They've got live music. Apparently most of the town going to show up and make an event of it," Mary Margaret said. "Graham apparently came in during his break for coffee last night and Ruby told him he needed to come. Then she called me and told me to bring you."

"Is she trying to set me up with him?" Belle asked. She closed up the files on the computer and shut the machine down for the night. "I thought _she_ was into him."

"I think she just wants a partner in crime." Mary Margaret fixed Belle with a piercing look. It was the sort of look she probably gave her students after they started painting on the tables. "And really, what were you planning to do with your Friday night?"

Belle shrugged. "Probably go home and write. Maybe watch something."

"You could use a night out. It will be fun."

"Our sort of fun, or Ruby's sort of fun?" Belle asked. She gathered her jacket and bag from under the desk.

"Ruby's, of course. But that's why we're friends with her, right?"

That was a point there, for certain. Ruby's sort of fun was usually too public and extroverted for Belle's taste and made her wish that she'd stayed at home with her books instead. Even so, some of her best memories were only because Ruby had dragged them out for an evening.

Granny's was full to the brim. There were people at every table and Belle was sure there was some rule against having four on a bench meant for two. Ruby met her and Mary Margaret at the door. "Good, you're here. I was having trouble saving you two a seat."

By 'seat' it turned out that Ruby meant a small table right next to the little stage that had been set up. There were only two seats there and it was close enough that any conversation from that little table was in danger of being picked up by the microphone—probably why no one else had sat there. Belle sat down, looking around for Mary Margaret.

"David's over by the door," Ruby said to explain their friend's sudden disappearance. Belle nodded. Of course. David Nolan was Mary Margaret's fiancé. He worked at the local animal shelter and was an all-around nice guy. He and Mary Margaret were the town's favorite couple, it seemed. Everyone wanted them together, except David's father. Albert Nolan made it no secret that he disapproved of his son's choice in bride although he couldn't do anything to change it.

"Are you going to sit with me?" Belle asked.

"As soon as my shift's over," Ruby said. "I've got just less than an hour left." She straightened. "Can I get you anything?"

Belle smiled despite her disappointment. So much for a fun night with friends. Mary Margaret was love-struck and Ruby was working. And it seemed that Graham hadn't shown after all. Maybe there had been some emergency down at the station. Belle tried to tell herself she wasn't disappointed, but it didn't change her feelings. "I'll have… I don't know. Some soup? It's cold out there."

Ruby nodded and scurried off to place the order and take care of the multitudes of other customers. Belle sighed and pulled a notebook out of her bag. If she was going to spend the evening at a table by herself, she might as well get some writing done. _Graeme caught up with Belle just down the hall—_

But a moment later—because her name was Belle French and this was just how life _happened_—someone sat down across from her.

"Get stood up, did we, lass?" a man asked in a distinctive Irish accent.

"Hello Killian," Belle said, looking up from her notebook with a smile. Killian Jones was always a friendly face. He dropped by the library several times a week to say hello or hack the WiFi. He worked down at the fishing docks during the days and tried to get gigs playing guitar around town at night. "And no. Not unless you count abandonment by friends as being stood up."

He laughed. "Not exactly."

"Yeah, well they dragged me here only to go off and do their own thing. Are you playing tonight?"

"Who else would they hire?" he asked. "I'm Killian Jones. I could play guitar one-handed if I wanted to."

"Keep saying that and one day they'll make you," Belle said, rolling her eyes.

"And I'd shock them all with how wonderful it would be. Now, I have to get up and play in a second here. Are you going to be alright on your own?"

"Thanks, but yeah. I've got my notebook. And I'll be watching you."

Killian smirked and raised his eyebrows a bit. "I'm sure you will be, darling." He stood and jumped up onto the stage. The crowd in the diner cheered. Killian was no master at guitar, but he was pleasant to listen to and always managed to learn enough of the most popular songs to keep people interested.

Once everyone had quieted, Killian smiled and spoke into the microphone, "Good evening to you all. As you know, I'm Killian Jones and Granny's threatened me enough to show up tonight"—he broke off to allow for laughter—"so I'm going to play a bit for you. This first song is one of my originals called 'Worlds Away'. Tonight, I'm dedicating it to the lovely Belle French down here in front of me." He winked at Belle, who willed herself not to blush at the attention. "This is for you darling.

"_There's a land up in the sky,_

_It__'s owned by the stars and the birds passing by._

_And I want to go there, but try as I might,_

_It__'s too far away._"

Belle hid her grin by leaning back down over her notebook, mouthing the words as Killian sang them. She'd heard this particular song often enough to know them all by heart. It was a favorite of the crowd at Granny's. Killian played it whenever he came. Letting the music wash over her, Belle slid back into her story.

* * *

The sound of Graeme's fist against the door to King George's study was a hollow one. It was an empty, foreboding sound. The sort of sound that made Belle grasp Graeme's warm hand in hers and want to shrink back into the shadows. But this might be their best chance with the King, so she squared her shoulders and waited for the door to open. Like her mother had told her: do the brave thing and bravery will follow.

"It's going to be alright," Graeme whispered. "Charming said he would be in a good mood."

Belle nodded just as the doors opened. She and Graeme walked in and came to stand in front of King George's desk. Belle had always been rather intimidated by King George. Her father, King Maurice of Avonlea, had been a kind and rather whimsical man. He had been killed in one of the early battles to defend their lands. All of Belle's early memories of his were warm and happy ones, full of laughter. After her father died, she had lived at the court of King Leopold until his death. King Leopold had been a gentle and benevolent ruler. He had managed war skillfully, but not without regret for the lives lost. King George… he was nothing like these other kings. He was ruthless and determined. And frightening, very frightening.

"Princess Belle, Huntsman," the King said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Your Majesty," Graeme said. He stood tall and confident, holding Belle's hand gently, as something precious. "For years I have served you and your court. I have found a home here that I have… been unable to find elsewhere. Your kindness to my sister and I has been more than I could have hoped for. And now I find myself with one request: to ask for your permission to marry my True Love, Belle of Avonlea."

Belle squeezed Graeme's hand. He was not a man of words and didn't directly address those who were not close friends without significant reason to. She suspected that he had prepared that speech weeks in advance.

Slowly, King George walked around the desk. He took one of Belle's hands in both of his. Her heart swelled. With his blessing, they could be married the day of their return from this mission. It was all she had dreamed of. She had loved Graeme for years. Life without him by her side wasn't something she could even begin to consider.

King George looked from Belle to Graeme. "This request has put me in rather a tight position," he said.

"How so?" Belle asked. Her heart was sinking. Quickly.

"I cannot allow this engagement because, Huntsman, you are already engaged to another woman."

"What?" Belle said, the word slipping through her lips not as a question, but an expression of pure disbelief. Had he known? What was going on here? She and Graeme had been together for nearly a decade, since they were still children really.

"Huntsman, you are one of the finest warriors in the realms. But you have no station or title. Your lack of position makes it difficult for you to wed a princess without the further complications."

"What 'further complications', Your Majesty?" Graeme asked. Belle relaxed in relief. He hadn't known about this. This was all King George's doing, not her sweetheart's.

"Politics," King George said. "Firthana is divided into factions, each of whom want their own warriors to win. The former Avonlea is one of such. To allow our greatest warrior to marry into one of those factions would create an imbalance of power. We cannot cause internal strife if we mean to win this war. And there is the issue of the young lady you are now promised to."

"Who is it?" Graeme demanded. "You can tell me that at least."

"Watch your tongue, boy. No matter how angry you may be, it will serve you well to remember that I am your King."

"Apologies, Your Majesty."

"You will learn her name at the banquet tonight, where the engagement will be made official," King George said, moving back around the desk. "The young lady you are to wed has previously been promised to another young man. It has recently come to my attention that he is guilty of several crimes against the Kingdom of Firthana. He will be banished in a few day's time. The young lady is promised to you, both as a sign of good faith among the people of the realms and a method of keeping her from any rash action on the behalf of her former fiancé."

"And she is not of one of the factions?" Belle asked.

"No. Her family is neutral."

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Graeme asked. Belle knew him well enough to pick up on the hint of desperation in his tone.

"No. Your engagement will be announced tonight and celebrated formally upon your return from your mission." The King sighed. "It is nothing personal. It's politics. I don't do this out of spite or arbitrary desire to cause pain. This is how we're going to win the war."

* * *

Belle was pulled out of her story by the sound of Ruby's raised voice. It had been a while she was lost in her imagination, it seemed, as there were significantly less people listening to Killian play now.

"Give us a chance, Granny! We won't know if we don't try!"

"I know now. It won't work. Now stop this silly delusion and get back to work," Granny snapped. Belle had always found the diner's owner rather intimidating. She certainly looked it now with her hand on her hips, glaring at Ruby.

Ruby glared right back. Beside her, Archie Hopper put an arm around her waist. "With all due respect, Mrs. Lucas, I have no untoward intentions about your granddaughter—"

"Be as it may, Dr. Hopper," Granny said, "you're too old for Ruby. Stay away from her."

"I'm a grown woman!" Ruby snapped. "You can't decide who I see and who I don't see."

"If you're so grown up, then why don't you act like it? I've had enough of this. I hope you can respect my wishes, Dr. Hopper." Granny turned and headed back into the kitchens.

Ruby glared hard at Archie. "Lot of help you were."

"I'm sorry, Ruby. But I've been hesitant about this from the start—"

"Stop. I'm done," Ruby said before sighed and stalking away. Archie stood there, looking helplessly after her. Belle felt rather sorry for him. He didn't ask to be pulled into the never-ending fight between Ruby and Granny. Fortunately when Belle looked around, it seemed that most people had decided to politely ignore the argument. Or maybe that was just because Killian had started playing a rather lively rendition of "Spanish Ladies" to drown it out.

Pulling off her apron roughly, Ruby plopped down in the chair across from Belle. She was still fuming and her arms were crossed over her chest. Belle calmly took a bite of her soup and closed her notebook. "Do you want to talk?"

Ruby shook her head. "I thought he would… never mind. Can you just distract me? What are you writing about?"

Belle hesitated. She didn't usually like to tell people about her stories, not even her best friends. So many of them failed before they were properly started. But there was something about this one. She felt like there was a small flame burning within her all the time. It kept her going and believing this could actually happen. It was a reserve of words, just begging to burst forth onto the page. This was the idea. It could happen.

"It's a variation on _Snow White_," she said.

Ruby's expression darkened as she glanced over Belle's shoulder. Belle turned to see Graham entering the diner, Regina a step behind him. She followed him to a seat at the counter, talking with him the whole way. She was working hard to keep his whole attention—Belle was sure her uniform top was supposed to cover more than that. Still, his eyes roamed around the diner and he only gave her few-word responses.

"There goes two prospective dates in ten minutes," Ruby grumbled. "That harpy's not going to let anyone else within ten feet of the poor man all night. And I was so excited when Archie asked me. Then Granny had to go an shoot that one down."

"I'm sorry," Belle said for lack of anything more meaningful to say.

"Yeah…What were you saying about Snow White?"

"My story's loosely based on it," Belle said. "Instead of the Evil Queen as Snow White's stepmother, she's her stepsister."

"So evil stepsister—like in Cinderella?"

"Yeah." Belle was surprised that Ruby was actually listening. She hadn't thought Ruby would get so cut up over Archie that she'd listen to story ideas. Her writing was usually regarded with something of a slightly amused toleration by her friends and family. Mary Margaret and Ruby were supportive, yes, but not typically enthusiastic.

"Okay. What else?"

"Do you remember that idea I had a few years back about the army of fairy tale characters?" Belle asked.

Ruby nodded. "It didn't really have much else but that if I remember."

"Well now Snow White and her stepsister are part of a scouting company in that setting. They've got Prince Charming, Rose Red—who might also be Little Red Riding Hood, I'm not sure—Captain Hook, the Huntsman from 'Snow White', and the Beauty from 'Beauty and the Beast'."

"Whose Prince Charming is it?" Ruby asked.

"Snow White's, of course," Belle said. "So the Evil Queen is out to kill Snow White, but it's different that the original. She's actually jealous of Rose Red and the Beauty and wants to get revenge on them by hurting their friend."

"Sounds good to me," Ruby said. She looked over her shoulder to see Granny glaring in their direction. "I'd better get back to work. Granny looks ready to skin me alive. Good luck with your writing."

"Thanks," Belle said sadly as Ruby left her. Mary Margaret was still sitting with David, so Belle opened her notebook again. She wasn't sure what to do next. Something belonged between now and the banquet, but what could it be? She started to doodle in the margins of her notebook, listening to Killian sing about a knight who was trying to slay a rather snarky dragon. Her doodle turned into a dragon with a bit of a weight problem, but it had started as a scribble, so Belle thought it was pretty good.

"Belle, isn't it?" a low voice asked. Belle looked up to see Graham standing next to her table. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, "but can I sit here?"

"Yeah," Belle said, a little dazed. Her heart was racing. Here was the mind-blowingly handsome object of her recent affection and he was asking to sit with her. Not even to mention Regina's surprising absence. "How—how do you know my name?" she blurted stupidly.

Graham sat across from her in Ruby's vacant seat. "Believe it or not, but you don't look that unrecognizable from fifteen years ago. And you and Ruby are in every picture Mary sends me." Mary. Belle supposed only he called her that. To everyone else she was strictly "Mary Margaret". It seemed every rule had an exception for one person.

"Of course," Belle said. "What happened to Regina? I thought I saw you together."

"Oh, we're not together," Graham said. "She might think otherwise, but honestly, I'm trying to escape while she's in the restroom. She's… she's…"

"Possessive? Frightening? Overbearing?" Belle suggested. She was surprised she was able to form coherent sentences with him right there. It was unlike her, but his presence seemed to send her head on vacation.

"Yes, that." He ran his fingers over the mug of coffee he'd brought with him.

"I spent thirteen years in school with Regina Mills and then fifteen in the same town. I know all about how scary she can get," Belle said. Regina had always hated her, Mary Margaret, and Ruby. There had never been a discernible reason for it, it just was. Regina's mother, Mayor Cora Mills, had always made sure her daughter wanted for nothing. Every whim was granted. Belle was surprised she had been able to get a job. Regina could have easily gotten her mother to bar that.

"Well I work with her," Graham said.

"You have our sympathy."

At that moment, Regina returned to the main room of the diner. She saw Graham sitting with Belle and an ugly scowl came over her face. Belle nearly flinched. She was in for it now. If Regina thought she was a rival things would get messy. Regina stalked past and out the diner's door. Graham sighed in relief once she was gone.

"Thank goodness she's gone." He stood. "I should go then. Sorry to interrupt your evening."

"It's fine," Belle said. _More than fine, absolutely excellent, please sit with me again—shut _up_ brain!_ she thought. She took a deep breath to get a grip on herself before speaking again. "I wasn't getting much done. I'm on my way out anyway."

"Then allow me to walk you home," Graham said.

"I couldn't—"

"It's a small town. It can't be that far out of my way. Think of it as payment for rescuing me from Regina."

"Alright then," Belle said. She gathered her things as calmly as she could and followed him out the door. Her stomach felt like several intricate knots had been tied in it. She didn't know it could be this nerve-wracking just to walk down the street with someone.

They walked in silence for a time. Belle concentrated on making sure she didn't trip over her feet or do anything else mortifying. Her bag was heavy from all the books and notebooks crammed inside, making her a little less balanced than usual. It was quiet on the streets—the nightlife in Storybrooke was pretty much limited to wherever Killian was playing.

Belle found herself watching Graham out of the corner of her eye. He was still in his uniform. His hair was sticking up a bit in the back like he'd been resting his head against a wall for a time. He walked with an easy gait, but it was slowed to accommodate her heels and much shorter legs. He walked with his hands in his pants pockets, but the thumbs sticking out.

They came to the end of Main Street, passing Mr. Gold's pawn shop. By habit, Belle looked in the window, catching a glimpse of the owner behind the desk. He was looking down, his long hair falling in his eyes, as he bent over the book he was writing in. A small smile twitched at the corners of Belle's lips. His whole-hearted focus in everything he did was endearing. The light inside the pawn shop was a dim, but warm yellow color.

"What are you looking at?" Graham asked. Belle realized she'd stopped to look longer.

"Nothing," she said. She glanced at Mr. Gold again through the window. He was still absorbed in his bookkeeping. "Sometimes I like to look in the windows. There are always interesting things in that shop."

"We could go inside," Graham offered. "Then you'd be able to see properly."

"Oh no," Belle said. "I never go inside. I just like to take a glance." She wasn't sure her nerves could take being near Mr. Gold and Graham at the same time. One was difficult enough. "My apartment isn't much further, just down that way."

"Right," Graham said.

They walked the rest of the way quickly. Belle was glad to have someone with her. She wasn't usually out this late. Walking home alone in the dark would have been disconcerting. She wasn't particularly afraid of the dark, just uneasy in it. Ruby would say she read too many horror novels. They came to the door of her basement and she pulled out her key.

"Well, this is it," she said. "Thank you for walking me home."

"Thank you for rescuing me from my secretary."

"Anytime," Belle said. She unlocked the door and entered, turning back to watch Graham walk back up the path until he was out of sight.

* * *

Captain Hook followed Lady Regina out of the prince's chambers. She had worked herself up into some sort of fit and he rather wanted to be around to see it break forth. He didn't particularly like Regina—did anyone?—but Lady Red was the only one besides Regina not with their spouse or soon-to-be spouse. Red had said something about a nap before the banquet so that left Hook with one option for a companion.

Regina didn't acknowledge his presence behind her as she stalked down to the library. Usually the library was Princess Belle's terrain and Regina avoided it at all costs, but Belle was… otherwise occupied at the moment. Hook had to have some respect for the Huntsman for winning her heart. She had the beauty she was named for. Actually, all the women in the prince's company were exceptionally beautiful, each in their own way. Even the raging warhead in front of him had held an elegant, dangerous attraction over him. And Regina fortunately had no vengeful man around to skewer him for enjoying the view.

The library was magnificent. The ceilings towered twenty feet above Hook's head and the bookcases stood just as high. On one side there were tall windows between the shelves. Display cases were full of rare objects and old pieces of art. Tables were spread out between the shelves for the use of the library's few guests, but most of them were covered in the books that didn't yet have a place on the shelves. King George's librarian had died years ago, so the task of cataloging the additions to the collection was put on hold. Princess Belle was the only one who really came in here and would sometimes try to make a dent in the un-filed books, but it barely made a difference. They were gone too often and every time the ogres advanced, someone brought their books to donate before the ogres could burn them. It was a losing battle.

The books on magic were kept in the farthest corner of the library. There were no windows there, only shadows and the quiet whisperings of the spells that weren't entirely stuck down to their pages. Hook had always found that rather disconcerting, but the chance to needle Regina was tempting enough to make him suffer through a few creepy books.

"Something troubling you?" he asked dryly, leaning back against a shelf and picking a random book from it. It was some sort of instructions on potion-making. Gruesome potion-making at that. The infamous Captain Hook wasn't easily repulsed, but the drawings in this book weren't pretty. People turning themselves inside out, a change-by-change diagram of turning a man into a rabbit… Hook snapped the book shut and looked up at Regina.

"I was looking forward to a bit of leave before our next mission, that's all," she said, her voice eerily calm. She stood a bit farther down the shelf from him, running her finger over the titles. "I wanted to work on some of my spell casting. I'm getting rusty out in the wild."

"Surely that can't be all," Hook laughed.

"No." Her face grew dark along with her voice. "That's not all. I want her gone."

"Who? Snow White? I thought you'd been down that road already." He grinned as he strolled toward her. "As I recall, it didn't end well."

"Not Snow, no—though she's as sickening as she ever was—I was speaking of dear Princess Belle."

"Ah," Hook said. He selected another book and used the tip of his hook to gently open it. He had lost the hand years ago in a duel, but thankfully he was just as good a swordsman with his right. "The competition. You never did like having a rival."

"No, I didn't," Regina said. "But trust me. That little slip of a girl won't win this. I will take Prince Charming's place. I will beat her and Red and that sorry little Snow. I'll crush them, if it's the last thing I do."


	4. A Broken Heart

**A short pause for an elli.O. appreciation moment... I have no clue how many times she reads over each chapter. I'm pretty sure it's heading toward a dozen though. Her dedication to this story is wonderful. :) The only thing more wonderful than elli is you. Just the fact that you're reading this right now is wonderful. Thank you so much.  
**

**The original of this story was written as something of a musical, so I'm going to include excerpts of the songs as their corresponding scenes appear.**

* * *

_Don't tell me it's not worth tryin' for._  
_ You can't tell me it's not worth dyin' for._  
_ You know it's true:_  
_ Everything I do, I do it for you._

~"Everything I Do" Bryan Adams_  
_

* * *

Belle was happy to collapse into the cushioned chair behind the circulation desk. She'd only been there for two hours, and she was already worn-out. She had arrived to find that a bluebird had found its way into the library. The poor thing was terrified out of its wits and took nearly an hour to coax out the door.

After the bluebird was safely free once again, Belle had turned to her original task of shelving books. Of course—because it was that sort of morning—someone had put a dead raccoon in the drop box again. Belle had spent the next hour or so cleaning off the books that had been in the drop box with it. This was the third time this fall someone had left a dead animal in the drop box. All of them seemed to have been deliberately killed. Not only was it disgusting and annoying, but cruel and illegal.

Sighing, Belle reached for the phone to call the Sheriff. _Just because of the animals_, she told herself. _Not because he walked you home Friday night._ Still, her stomach knotted up again as she listened to the phone ringing at the Sheriff's station.

"Hello? Storybrooke Sheriff's station. This is Regina Mills."

Belle tried to tell herself she wasn't disappointed. She'd called to report vandalism, which had to be reported no matter who the Sheriff was. Not that talking to Regina wasn't disappointing in general…

"Hello Regina," she said. "This is Belle French. I'm calling to report vandalism. There was another raccoon left in the drop box at the library this morning."

Belle tuned Regina out for a second, distracted by the door to the library opening and letting in the bright morning sunlight. Killian Jones waved to her as he sauntered in and leaned against the desk in front of her. He grinned and mouthed _Who are you talking to?_

_Regina_, Belle mouthed back, stifling giggles at the gagging sounds he made in response.

"…are you even listening to me?" Regina snapped.

"Sorry Regina. There was someone trying to talk to me. What did you say?" Belle said sweetly, desperately willing herself not to crack up at Killian's impersonation of Regina.

"I'll send Sheriff Blanchard over to check it out in a bit," Regina said sourly. "He's _busy_ at the moment." Somehow Belle seriously doubted Graham was busy in the way Regina wanted her to think. Sometimes that girl just didn't know how much was believable. Or when he just wasn't that in to her.

"Thanks," Belle said. She slammed the phone back in the cradle with a little more force than strictly necessary.

"Is her majesty being irksome this morning?" Killian said.

"What do you want, Jones?" Belle asked, put out by her conversation with Regina.

"Jones? What did I do? I thought we were on better terms than that."

Belle sighed. "It's been a trying morning. Do you need something, Killian?"

"I've come to pilfer your internet connection, love," he said, making it sound like some sort of illicit affair.

She snorted. "Nobody talks like that. And why should I let you?"

"Come on darling. Consider it payment for leaving early Friday night. Don't think I didn't notice."

"Fine," Belle said. It wasn't like he was doing any harm. She barely used the internet here enough to make the bill worth it anyway. "Just don't bother me."

"Can I have the password?" he asked, leaning in and winking at her. "Just this once, love?"

Belle leaned over the desk so their noses were inches apart. "It wouldn't be pilfering if I told you, now would it?" she asked with a smirk and sat back up straight. He frowned. "We both know you can hack it without any trouble."

Killian grinned and stepped back, holding his arms out.. "That's why they call me Killian Jones, love."

He settled down at the table closest to the desk and pulled out his laptop. Belle fetched a stack of recent purchases off the cart behind her and set to cataloging them.

The door opened again, this time letting in a petite blonde balancing a stack of books while trying to keep the door open long enough to get inside. Killian jumped up to help her—always the charmer.

"Thank you," she said breathlessly and dumped the books rather unceremoniously on the circulation desk. "Sorry about this, Belle. They were very helpful."

"Good morning, Kathryn," Belle said, amused. Kathryn Price had been attempting to learn programming on her own, checking out every book Belle had on the subject. Now that she had finally convinced her father not to marry her off to the nearest available man, she was determined to get a decent job. And spend the entirety of the library's book stipend on programming books.

"I think I actually stand a chance to get a job now," Kathryn said. "Maybe I can move to Boston or something. There's more work there."

"What about Fredrick?" Belle asked. "What about studying law? You'd just leave that all behind?"

"Fredrick's the only reason I haven't already left. And daddy won't pay for college or anything. So law's out until I save enough."

"I thought you said something about an internship here in town," Belle said. She and Kathryn might not be best friends, but they'd learned a bit about each other throughout Kathryn's crash course in programming.

Kathryn laughed. "It turns out we only have one lawyer here in Storybrooke."

"Who?" Belle didn't think she'd ever needed such services… except when reopening the library after years of disuse… oh.

"Gold," Kathryn said. "It wouldn't be an internship. It would be a slow and painful death."

Belle opened her mouth to respond, but the library door opened again. Scared that it might be Mr. Gold himself-even though he'd never been there as far as she knew-she held her tongue. She had been about to tell Kathryn that it surely wouldn't be that bad to intern with Gold. After all, Belle had seen him in the evenings. He never looked threatening or dangerous then. Maybe his reputation was all nasty rumors. Not that she wanted him to hear her saying so.

It wasn't Mr. Gold. It was David Nolan.

He froze as soon as he saw Kathryn. Her mouth fell open a little. Belle paused, unsure how to act around them. Killian was doubled over in silent laughter out of sight of Kathryn and David.

"Kathryn," David said. "I didn't-"

"It's alright," she said, collecting her things. "Congratulations on your engagement."

"Yeah, uh, thanks. I...uh…"

"I'll see you around, David. Thanks for everything, Belle. I'll be back if I need more help." Kathryn left with only a tight smile at David, who looked rather helpless. Once she was gone, he turned to Belle and Killian.

"I never mean for it to turn out badly," he said. "It just… does. I'm going to get a book." He disappeared back into the stacks of books. Belle watched him go sadly. He and Kathryn had dated several years ago, but it hadn't worked out. Sadly, their parents hadn't caught on to their breakup. Even years later, Mr. Nolan was still pressuring David to get back together with Kathryn, even now that he was engaged to Mary Margaret. There had been several embarrassing encounters about their former relationship recently. Including one memorable rumor Mr. Nolan started about David leading Mary Margaret on. Needless to say, David and Kathryn tried to avoid each other most of the time.

Belle gathered the couple books she'd managed to catalog amid today's distractions and headed back to shelve them. She found David browsing in the general fiction section. He was holding two books and seemed to be indecisive between the two.

"I'd go with _The Book Thief_," she said. "It's more your thing." It was her way of saying, _Are you alright?_

"Or I could get both," he said. "Unless the library's imposed a one-book limit since I was last here." _I__'m fine. Really_.

"You could get both," she echoed. Before Mary Margaret had started dating him, Belle hadn't known much about David Nolan. Now, she couldn't imagine her life without his friendship. He was a good, kind man. The steady sort of friend who could tell when you needed a kind word or would come over in the middle of the night to kill a spider. Not that Belle had ever asked him to do that, of course.

The phone began to ring and Belle turned back to get it. Before she could get there, she heard Killian's footsteps across the room.

"Hello, Storybrooke library," he said. "If you'd like to donate to our cause you can write a check to Killian Jones"—he broke off and listened to the voice on the other end, wrinkling his nose and holding the phone away from his ear a bit—"I fail to see why that's not funny, love… yes, here she is." He held the phone out to Belle. "It's her royal pain-in-the—"

Belle snatched the phone away. "Hello, Regina. Can I help you?"

"I just called to say that Sheriff Graham is very busy and would like you to know he won't be able to come until late today or tomorrow," Regina snapped.

"That's fine," Belle said as patiently as she could. "The racoon's not going very far."

"I wouldn't think so. Good day, Miss French. And please control your clientele." The phone clicked as Regina hung up.

Belle sighed and looked tiredly at Killian. "Was that necessary?"

"I thought it was funny," Killian said with a wide, arrogant grin. Idiotic musician.

* * *

The great hall of the Castle was lit with the light of a thousand will-o'-the-wisps, their cool glow given a warm tint by the few torches. They glittered as the fluttered about the ceiling. The magnificent table was set with every sort of dish imaginable and some that were unfamiliar even to Charming. In the corner, musicians began to play, causing the will-o'-the-wisps to dance. Soon their light began to flicker and shift like an open flame. It was beautiful, even though Belle wished King George wouldn't keep the poor creatures trapped like this. They belonged out in the woods and fens, not in a castle. But tonight the King had gone all out with extravagance: King Midas was visiting with his daughter, Princess Abigail.

Snow saw Midas just after Belle did. Belle could see her carefully bring her features under control. Midas' visits were always an ordeal for Snow. Neither him nor King George had ever gotten over Charming's decision to marry her instead of Kathryn. And they didn't even try to hide their displeasure.

As tradition dictated, King George was last to enter. Everyone stood as he made his way to his place at the head of the table, slowly, surveying the people in front of him. Belle suppressed a shiver as his gaze passed over her. He seemed almost gleeful in the pain he would seal for her tonight. Finally he sat and began to eat. Everyone followed suit quickly and soon the room was lively with conversation all down the long table.

The prince's company sat together, as usual, but no one was really eating. Everyone was picking at their food and exchanging sad looks. This wasn't the homecoming they had wanted. They were being sent out and split up without warning. Belle and Graeme hadn't told anyone what had come of their meeting with the King, but Red and Snow had easily picked up that it hadn't gone well. Regina was up in a snit about something she hadn't deemed fit to share with the rest of them yet. Charming and Snow were both dealing with the prospect of their very last mission.

The only one seemingly unaffected by anything was Hook. He was grinning to himself and eating with enthusiasm. It took him a few minutes to notice that no one else was eating. Self-consciously, he dropped his fork and sat up straighter. "Why all the long faces?"

"You know perfectly well why," Regina snapped. "The King is separating us. This is our last night together here." Snow nodded at Regina's words. Even if most of them regularly wanted to push Regina over the nearest cliff, she was one of them and she stuck to that.

"Yes, yes," Hook said. "But the way I see it: this is our last good meal until we get back. Why don't we enjoy it while we can and gripe about our misfortunes on the walk tomorrow?"

Belle ducked her head to hide her smile. Hook's blunt assessment seemed to have cheered everyone a bit. Even the corner of Regina's lip was twitching upward.

"See?" he said. "Not that hard. Just don't think until tomorrow morning. There's time enough to worry then."

"Indeed," Charming said, putting on a brave smile. "Tonight is for enjoying ourselves."

Belle and Graeme nodded along with the rest of the company, but everyone was too caught up in their woes to be able to start a new conversation. There were several moments of tense silence before Red leaned over towards Belle and Graeme.

"So, I heard you two traumatized a page boy earlier," she said.

Belle rolled her eyes. "He's not traumatized."

"You admit it then?" Red grinned.

"Admit what?" Hook asked. "What happened?"

"I heard a… _rumor_ that a page boy found Belle in a rather compromising position earlier today." Red looked positively gleeful. Snow was smiling, half at the teasing and half at Charming's face. He seemed to be trying very hard not to imagine what Belle and Graeme had been up to. Regina was scowling again. She had always wanted Graeme, even though he'd never shown any interest in her whatsoever.

"It wasn't like that," Belle said. "We weren't doing much—" She was cut off by another comment from Red and Killian. Soon the company relaxed into playful banter again. Belle made a mental note to thank Killian later, after it all fell apart again. At least the whole evening wasn't ruined.

"Don't tempt me, _Charming_," Graeme said a while later, drawing out the nickname to make it mocking rather than friendly. "If I decided you ought to be dead, no one would ever find more than I wanted them too. All Snow has to do is say the word…"

Charming failed to hide a gulp and Snow laughed. "Stop it, Graeme. I'm very happy with Charming. You know that."

"If I hear one word otherwise," Graeme said, drawing a finger across his neck. Belle couldn't contain the giggle that escaped her. Killian wasn't even trying. His face was in constant risk of falling in his plate from laughing so hard. Killian was their laughter. In a company of such serious people, they needed him. Belle suspected he wasn't even really that amused. He was just trying to keep spirits up. It was working and Belle was grateful.

She was happy for Graeme too. He was the silent, brooding type. The fact that he was even cracking jokes was a good sign. Maybe this wouldn't destroy him completely. She wouldn't be able to bear it if the King's edict broke him.

The beginning of Killian's next sentence was interrupted when King George stood. The room quieted and sat in anticipation. Belle felt as if her stomach had been turned to stone.

"Lords and ladies, guests," the King began. "Tonight is a special night. Not only because of our distinguished guests, King Midas and Princess Abigail, but because tonight it is my honor to announce an engagement."

The assembled crowd clapped enthusiastically. Belle's hand found Graeme's under the table. Snow looked at Belle, her eyes and smile full of happiness for her. Belle forced a smile in return, but she knew it didn't look true. Snow thought this announcement was for her.

"Not every good marriage is formed on True Love," King George said. "Many times, love comes after the wedding instead of before. But that does not make it of any less value."

Red looked at Belle, her confusion evident. Belle shrugged back and looked away quickly. She couldn't meet her friend's eyes. Not knowing what was coming next.

"And so, it is my honor to announce the coming wedding of Graeme, the Huntsman of Anorien." Slowly, Graeme stood as the room applauded once more. His hand slipped from Belle's, leaving her with a cold, empty feeling not just in her hand, but her whole body. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry. She took a deep breath and opened them again. Snow and Red were grinning at her. Charming and Killian were sitting back in their chairs, trying to look suave and not so excited about a wedding.

King George looked right at Graeme and Belle as the applause died down. "His bride: Lady Rose Red of Anorien."

There was no applause.

Snow's mouth dropped open as she gaped at her friends.

Charming suddenly sat up straight in his chair.

Killian looked around and began to swear at King George under his breath.

Regina was struggling to understand if this was a good or bad thing. After all, he'd only passed from one rival to another.

Red's eyes were wide and filling with tears. She was looking between Belle and Graeme desperately as if hoping they would deny it. Belle could only look sadly back at her.

"Lady Red, if you would please stand," King George said.

Slowly, shakily, Red stood. Her hands were clutching her skirt in a death grip. She was taking deep breaths to try to control herself. Slowly, one person at a time, applause started. It was weak, halfhearted. Everyone knew about Graeme and Belle. They'd been found together enough times, including today. Everyone knew no one wanted this, but still they clapped. It died down after a couple seconds and Red's face was stained with tears.

As soon as there was silence again, Red turned and ran from the room, her hands over her face. Graeme looked to Belle and she nodded. Red was his fiancée now. He started to move, but Snow laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let me," she whispered.

Graeme nodded and sat down. Snow lifted her skirts so she wouldn't trip and ran out after Red.

* * *

Snow found her in an unused sitting room on the third floor. Her silk dress pooled around her as she was nestled in a corner, still crying into her hands. Snow closed the door with a bit of a snap to alert Red to her presence before kneeling down beside her. The lavender and crimson fabrics mixed together on the floor and Snow gently put an arm around her friend.

"Red?" she said quietly. She knew not to try to say much more than that. There was no need for pleasantries between them. Not after all these years. They had been children when they met each other in the woods near Anorien's palace. They had become friends easily and spent years together. When Snow's mother died, it was Red who comforted her. When Red first changed a few years later, Snow was the one who begged that she not be barred from the palace. Yes, having a werewolf around was dangerous, but she had her cloak to prevent the change.

By the age of twelve, they were inseparable. When Snow's father had Red granted the title of "Lady", most people were surprised to learn she was a commoner. Belle had come to them later, but became just as dear to them. They were sisters. They had spent years together, fought every battle together, borne every hardship.

"I can't do this," Red choked through her tears. "I can't marry him."

"I know," Snow said. "I know."

"She's our friend," Red continued. She wasn't telling Snow anything Snow didn't know already, but she just needed to say it. "She's been in love with Graeme for years. I can't betray her like this. And then—" She broke off into fresh sobs.

"And then there's Peter," Snow finished. Red and Peter had been quietly together for several years now. Peter was a good knight and had a privileged position for a blacksmith's son. Snow knew he wasn't always in good favor with King George due to some of his more radical ideas. Otherwise he seemed like a decent sort. And Red loved him.

"Do you think he knows?" Red asked.

"About tonight? Yes. King George would have told him." Snow knew her father-in-law wouldn't miss an opportunity to gloat. Peter had no rank outside the army and wouldn't be allowed at tonight's dinner, so the King would have sought him out beforehand.

"We were going to ask for permission to marry," Red whispered. "We were going to…" She buried her face in Snow's shoulder, her tears hot against Snow's skin.

"Belle understands," Snow said quietly after a few minutes. "So does Peter. It's not your fault. Graeme is a good man. Everyone knows you didn't choose this."

"But I still have to marry him."

Snow sighed. She wanted to find Peter and get someone to marry him and Red tonight before King George was any wiser. But only the King could give nobles permission to marry. And as Red was a Lady, even if not by birth, she couldn't marry without that permission. It wouldn't be given, so any elopement would be punished as adultery: with death for both Red and Peter.

"You can go talk with Peter in the morning," Snow said. "We leave two hours after dawn, but if you're up early, you could still find him."

"Talking won't help," Red said, a hint of a growl in her voice. It wasn't often that the wolf was visible in Red, but Snow made sure not to tense at it or show fear. Red was in no state to keep the wolf in check right now.

"You don't know that. Go and see him in the morning." She untangled herself from Red's grasp and stood, holding out her hands. "Come on."

Red rubbed her face roughly to wipe away the tears before taking Snow's hands. Snow tucked Red's arm in hers and led her slowly back up to her chambers. She brought Red her nightgown and washed her face. Red was silent and obedient the whole time. She didn't resist, but nor did she help. She seemed to have moved from her grief to a state of shock. Snow tucked her under the covers and pressed a kiss to her brow.

"Sweet dreams, sister," she whispered. "It will all be better in the morning."

_I hope_.

* * *

The Castle had one tower higher than all the rest. Although from a distance it seemed to end in a spire, there was a small landing at the top. Most people never knew about it. The stairs up to it were long and far from any other destination. Tonight they were dark, the only light being the faint starlight from the occasional window. The steps were stone and even, spiraling upward and upward towards the heavens.

Belle concentrated on the feeling of Graeme's hand in hers as he led her up the twisting staircase. It was warm and held hers tightly, but not enough to hurt. She gripped his hand in return. She didn't want to let go. Their feet moved in perfect rhythm with each other. His soft leather boots were silent and her heels clacked a bit on the stones. She could feel the soft weight against her hips of her gown's train as it followed her up the stairs. She wished she had worn gloves tonight—the air was cool with the coming autumn and her gown was strapless.

They emerged on the top of the tower. It was even colder up here and the wind whipped about them. Graeme silently took off his cloak and draped it over her, his hands lingering on her shoulders. He stepped quickly away once more, as if he had momentarily forgotten that she was no longer his.

The stars were bright in the dark sky and reflected in the waters surrounding the Castle. There was no moon tonight, the stars endless with no clouds to obscure them either. Just the dark eternity dotted with glittering specks of light. In the west, there was a faint red glow on the horizon—the front lines.

"What are we doing here?" Belle asked. Graeme didn't respond. He just turned to stand by the stone wall on the edge of the ledge.

Belle joined him there, the wind blowing into her face. She wrapped the cloak tighter around her. It was heavy and soft and filled her whole body with a delicious warmth. But it was still late and they were leaving in the morning. They weren't even together anymore. They shouldn't be up here alone together in the dead of night. "We can't be caught up here," she said. "We're not together anymore."

Still, he didn't respond. She knew he wasn't ignoring her. He just didn't have anything to say yet. She continued, "If someone thinks… We could be accused of adultery. We could be executed."

"I know," Graeme said, not looking at her, just out over the silent waters. Belle wasn't afraid of being caught, not really. Most of the guards wouldn't accuse them for a last good-bye. Most people were on their side. The only ones they had to fear were Regina or the King. But neither of them were the sort to go stargazing on a tower. Belle looked up. The stars were beautiful. She had always loved looking at them, the way the longer she looked, the more appeared from the depths of the night. Some feared the expanse of the sky, but Belle loved it. It was open, free, not bound by any laws of man or magic. Completely untouchable.

"I was going to propose to you tonight," Graeme said, bringing Belle back down to earth.

"What?"

"A proper proposal. I know you were there this afternoon and already knew, but I wanted to ask you anyway." His voice was full of wry pain. Belle took his hand again and squeezed it gently. "I asked one of the guards to leave the doors unlocked for us. I was going to sweep you off after the banquet."

Belle's eyes filled with tears. "But that's not possible now, is it?" she said. "It's not the beginning, it's the end."

He turned to her suddenly, cupping her chin with his palm and meeting her eyes with a fierce passion. "Never the end," he said. "Never."

"Graeme, you're to marry—"

"I don't care about that. We won't avoid each other. I won't forget you," he said, his voice just as sharp and earnest. "Being with you… it's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I refuse to leave it all behind. Things will change tomorrow morning, but it's not the end. Promise me you won't forget that."

Rarely had she seen him so certain, so vehement. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. "I love you."

He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up a bit so he wasn't so much taller. "I would have loved you forever, Belle. I was would have given everything for you, died for you. Don't let that mean nothing. Remember that I love you."

"I will. Until the end of my days," Belle said. Her heart was breaking, shattering. "I don't want it to be this way."

"Neither do I, love. Neither do I." He set her down on her feet again, but didn't take his hands from her waist.

"Promise me one thing," she said, blinking back her tears. She couldn't let him comfort her. Comfort would lead to more attachment. They needed to break this off. She wouldn't become his secret lover. And he wouldn't ask her to. It needed to be a clean break. There could be no rumors, no temptation. She wouldn't ruin his marriage. However much he didn't want it now, it would be his to live with.

"Anything."

"Be good to Red. She's like a sister to me. She deserves someone who will respect her and love her." She bit her lip. "I know it's unfair to ask you to love her, but please try. Make her happy. She doesn't deserve to pay for our unhappiness."

"I will," Graeme said without hesitation. "Of course I will. For you."

"No. Not for me. Do it for her. She deserves the best you can give. To be loved for her own sake. Don't forget me, but let her be your wife."

"I will," Graeme said. He laid his hand on her cheek. "Tomorrow morning, I will. But first I must do one last thing."

As he drew closer to her, Belle's eyes fluttered shut. "We shouldn't," she said. "We could be caught."

"We won't."

He closed the distance between them and met her lips with his. His arms around her pulled her to him until there was not space between them. He kissed her with every bit of the passion he had spoken with. Belle kissed him back, one last kiss between them. It was a farewell kiss. It was a longing kiss. It was a desperate, raw, and anguished kiss. It was their one last embrace before they would be forever parted by the edict of the King. It made Belle's head light and her unable to support herself without leaning against Graeme.

But eventually it had to end. They pulled away for air and Belle stepped back. She took off his cloak and handed it back to him. The cold air caught her by surprise and she drew a sharp breath. It was over.


	5. A Journey Begins

**Thank you to everyone who is reading this-especially those who follow/favorite and even more specially to those who review. I love you all. Thank you as well to elli.O., without whom this chapter would not be here.**

* * *

Red woke from a restless sleep to the dawn streaming through her windows onto her face. She opened her crusty eyes only to be blinded by the bright light. Her mouth was dry and sour and her body was sticky with sweat. It was a relief to push away the thick bed coverings and let them flop to the floor. Someone else would pick them up later. Someone always would.

It wasn't until she sat up that the memory of the night before came back to her. She groaned aloud and hauled herself to the washroom, staring at her bleary-eyed face in the mirror. She had to marry Graeme. She was destroying her best friend's happiness. She had to leave on another mission this morning. And then there was Peter. She thought he would come to see her last night—surely he would have heard about her engagement.

"I'm going to marry Graeme," she whispered to herself in the mirror. Saying it aloud didn't make a difference—she still couldn't quite believe it was true. Not when she was alone in her washroom like this. "I'm going to—" It was harder to say the second time. Grief threatened to overwhelm, to choke her. She swallowed and managed to finish, "marry Graeme."

Tear pricked at the backs of her eyes, but she swallowed them. No. She would not cry today. She had used up all her tears last night. Today she would be strong.

She stripped off her nightgown and climbed into the bath Regina had left for her. Even if she could be a manipulative harpy, there were some advantages to sharing a washroom with a competent sorceress, hot baths being one of them. Red washed quickly. She needed to see Peter before they left.

The door opened just as she stepped out of the bath. It was Belle. Red ducked her head and let her wet hair fall over her face. She didn't want to see the pain in Belle's eyes. She knew the arranged marriage wasn't her fault, but maybe if she wasn't there, Belle would have had her happy ending. Or maybe Graeme would have been married to Regina instead. One never knew with King George.

"It's alright," Belle said quietly.

Red looked up sharply. "What?"

"It's not your fault. I know that. Please don't let this come between us." There was something about her, standing there in a robe with dark bags under her eyes and her hair still mussed from sleep. She wanted them to be friends, as if nothing had happened. As if Red wasn't engaged to the man Belle had loved almost all her life. Red didn't know how to deal with it. If their situations had been reversed she was sure she'd hate Belle right now, just for existing.

"You're not jealous?" Red asked.

Belle laughed. "I'm jealous alright." She sat on the side of the bathtub. "I've dreamed about my wedding and life with Graeme for years. And now it's not me he's going to wake up next to for the rest of his life—it's you. Of course I'm jealous. I'd hit you if I thought it would change anything."

She looked so… fierce sitting there. Red usually thought of Belle as more quiet and bookish. Even though she had proved she was snarky and opinionated and impulsive plenty of times over, Red was still surprised to see it. She began to laugh. Softly at first, then louder as Belle's laughter joined hers.

"But… I'm… I'm not going… to hit you," Belle said through her laughs. It wasn't even a funny thing to say, but it set them off again. The laughter was like a balm, healing the wounds between them. Red couldn't have stopped, even if she wanted to. It felt… wonderful.

The third door banged open and Regina stuck her head in. "If you two don't _mind_," she snapped. "Some of us would like some sleep before we have to leave."

The door nearly took off her nose as it slammed shut again.

Belle and Red giggled, taking deep breaths to try to control themselves. As much as there were perks to sharing a washroom with a sorceress, there were dangers as well.

"I should go," Red said. "I was going to talk with Peter before we leave."

Belle nodded. "It's best that he hear it from you."

Red finished dressing and gathered her things. At the door back to her room she paused. "Thank you."

* * *

Red couldn't find Peter anywhere. He wasn't in his room or with the other officers or in any of his usual places. His friends were unhelpful or plain uncooperative. Exasperated and running out of time, Red ran to the barracks again, hoping he had shown up there since she last checked. She couldn't leave without seeing him again. Just one more time. A chance to say good—

In her hurry, she slammed face-first into a man who was just exiting the barracks. "I'm so sorry—"

The man laughed gently at her clumsiness and held out a hand to steady her. "Whoa there, m'lady," he said. "What are you in such a rush for?"

"I'm looking for Peter of Anorien. He's an officer in the 47th—"

"I know him," the man said. "But I'm afraid you won't find him here."

"Where then?" Red asked. "I've been looking for him all morning."

The man looked her up and down, then nodded. "Come. I'll take you to him."

Red followed him down several flights of stairs until they reached the lowest levels of the Castle: the dungeons. Red had realized where she was being taken nearly as soon as they had started downward, intellectually at least. Even now, her mind was still in denial—as if she could will it untrue. He couldn't be down there. It just couldn't be possible.

It was minutes after they entered the dungeons when her guide stopped in front of a cell. It was minimum security and even had a small window. A barred and ground-level one, but a window.

Peter was in there. He was slumped against the far wall, his head resting on his chest, turned away from her. Red rushed to the bars and dropped to her knees, reaching out for him. "Peter." Had they hurt him, or was he just asleep? She couldn't tell from the way he was curled around himself. Why was he even here? What did he do? "Peter."

A moan, and he stirred, slowly opening his eyes. "Red?" He woke enough to properly recognize her and bolted upright. "Red, what are you doing here?" He crawled over to her, letting her touch his face.

"I had to see you," Red said, caressing his face through the bars, frustrated she couldn't hold him close.

"You need to go," Peter said. "If the King catches you down here… You can't be seen with me anymore."

"Why not? What are you doing here? What happened?" She looked around them. They were alone—her guide seemed to have gone back to his duties. She lowered her voice and said, "Do you know… about…"

"Last night?" Peter gave a dark laugh. "I heard about it alright. The King came down yesterday afternoon to gloat a bit."

"The King? Why are you down here? What did you do?"

Peter sighed and shifted so he was sitting properly instead of crouching. "Nothing specific, I don't think. It was just a bunch of things that built up over time. Then one of my own men reported me for 'seditious speech' and I ended up here."

"What did you say?" Red asked, relief spreading through her veins like cool water. At least it wasn't something new. Peter had always been rather radical in his views on the war. He also couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut about them. They were good ideas, but the King didn't like them much. The charge of sedition was flimsy most of the time. They could deal with it. They could get him out.

"The usual," Peter said. "I got into an argument about the Dark Ones. Apparently the King had forbidden discussion of that idea or something. Or maybe the man was out to catch me for something. But next thing I know, I'm hauled up to His Majesty and then stuck down here."

Red nodded. Peter had been saying for years that the only way to win the war against the ogres was to appeal to the Dark Ones for help. It was a vastly unpopular idea that the King tried to shoot down with every opportunity. Red could see Peter's point—the Dark Ones were the most powerful sorcerers in all the realms and could easily defeat the ogres—but she couldn't see them wanting to help. Besides, no one had seen or heard of the Dark Ones in years. Most people thought they were just a myth. There was no way King George could put the war in the hands of a possible fantasy.

"So it was your mouth that got you in trouble," she said, smiling a little. There was dirt clinging to the fringe of his hair and she brushed it away. "As usual."

"It probably doesn't help that I asked for permission a few days ago," Peter added. He said it like an afterthought, but Red's mouth dropped open. Her hands froze on his face.

"Permission? To… to marry me?"

Peter nodded. "I was going to surprise you with the proposal when you got back. But it appears the King had other things in mind."

"Yeah." Red took a deep breath. "Do you—do you think that this has anything to do with that?"

"Being imprisoned? It has everything to do with your new engagement. King George told me plainly."

"But why? You haven't done anything."

Peter sighed. "King George has been looking for a good reason to be rid of me for years. I'm too much trouble to keep around. Your engagement and this charge of 'sedition' is just a cover for him to hide behind. He _needs_ your marriage to succeed, and I'm too big of an obstacle."

She tried to hold him closer, but the bars only cut into her arms. "Well you're the noblest obstacle I know, Peter of Anorien."

He laughed and kissed her fingertips. "Besides, it's not as if they could throw Princess Belle in a place like this."

The rest of the thought was left unsaid: but they could throw an unknown soldier down here. King George could do that any day. Red swallowed her anger at the injustice of it all.

It just had to be _her_ unknown soldier.

"So Graeme will be free to see Belle and I'll be left alone?" Red scoffed. She was rather horrified to even think such a thing, but it was a point. Belle and Graeme could keep a secret if they needed to. And as Belle's friend they would trust her to keep quiet.

"He wouldn't do that," Peter said. "You know that. He has too much honor. He will be faithful to you. And I wouldn't be surprised if the King was looking for suitors for Belle right now. It's an airtight scheme."

"He can't keep us apart," Red insisted. "We'll find away. Belle can have Graeme if she wants. I don't care." She looked to him for affirmation, but he was quiet. He seemed to be drinking in the sight of her. Slowly savoring the warmth of her hands in his. Had he heard her? Red touched his face again. "We'll be together. Somehow."

"No," Peter said simply.

"What?" Red knew she was thinking irrationally, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She knew it would never work between her and Peter now. But still, her mind raced for possible solutions.

"I'm afraid I won't be there," Peter said. "Be happy with Graeme. It's the least you can do for me."

"Wait, what? You're not making any sense." Peter wasn't the sort to wish her happiness with another. He was a fighter. He would fight for her, so they could be together.

His voice was hollow. "My crimes are enough to warrant execution. I'm a traitor for my ideals and for loving an engaged woman."

"Execution?" Red repeated. She couldn't… it was too much. "No. Peter, tell me it's not true. You can't—"

"Die? I've got three days, Red."

She bit back tears, running her fingers along his cheek. He caught her hand and kissed it. The bars between them infuriated her. She wanted to hold him, to kiss him one last time.

"If I was going to live, I would fight for you," Peter said. "I would have fought until we were wed. I would have done anything."

"I know," Red said. She was crying now. She hated crying. Actually, she hated King George. "And I would have fought for you."

"Don't cry too long for me," Peter said. "Don't let yourself die before your time. Live. Promise me."

"I promise."

* * *

"I heard you wanted to see me."

Belle looked up to see none other than Geoffry Stoddard leaning on the circulation desk, positively leering at her. If she didn't know it would only encourage him, she would have pulled her sweater closed farther over her chest. Not that her shirt was scandalous in any way—he just looked at her like it was.

"I don't," she said firmly. "You must have been misinformed." She had learned years ago that being polite to Geoffry only made things worse. The only way to deal with him was to tell him to go away in no uncertain terms. Several times.

"No need to be shy," he said, winking at her—winking!—"Your father mentioned you might have trouble admitting it."

"Admitting what?" Belle responded automatically, cursing herself the moment the words left her mouth. The worst possible thing she could do was play along, but her curiosity got the better of her.

"That you're in love with me, of course." He reached for her hand, but Belle pulled it away. Her _father_ had said that? She took a deep breath to swallow her rage. How could he? After she had specifically told him she wasn't interested! Sure, Geoffry was a decent guy. He had a job and could carry on a conversation. He could flirt and romance a girl until her head spun with adoration. He was caring and loyal and charming. Someday, a girl would be lucky to have him. But he wasn't for Belle. If only everyone could understand that.

"I am not in love with you," Belle said. "Now, please. Do you have a concern about the library? If not I'll ask you to leave."

"Of course I have a concern about the library," Geoffry said, grinning. "It's more about the librarian—" Okay. Maybe he had some cheesy lines. But all the same, Belle would have been happy to be his friend if only he wasn't interested in more than that!

"Alright. Out." Belle pointed to the door before looking back at her computer. Maybe if she ignored him he would go away. "You're just here to distract me and be annoying, so out."

"So I'm distracting?"

"Not like that. Go away. I'm trying to work."

"I could help you."

"No. You couldn't. Please go."

"You—"

"I believe the young lady asked you to leave."

For the second time that day, Belle's head snapped up. It was Graham. Belle couldn't help but notice he was several inches taller than Geoffry. And definitely stronger. Geoffry's football days were years behind him. Graham however… Belle forced her eyes away from Graham and back to the situation at hand.

"I was just saying goodbye," Geoffry said, trying to salvage things in his favor.

"Then you've finished. Please." He gestured to the door. Geoffry nodded awkwardly and nearly fled. Belle sighed in relief. That was one problem gone. Now if she could just get her heart to slow down. (Graham was standing in front her and he'd rescued her and he was looking _very_ fine this morning—)

"Thank you," she said as calmly as she could.

"I'm always glad to help you," Graham said with a smile.

"And when Geoffry's bothering me, you're always welcome to."

"I'll keep that in mind." He laughed a bit and so did she, but after a moment he took a deep breath and got back to business. "Regina tells me you called. Something about a dead raccoon?"

"Right," Belle said. "I had it taken out back if you want to look. It was stuck in the book drop Monday morning. It's the third time in the past two months."

Graham nodded. "I'll go out and look then." A couple of paces away he turned around again. "Don't go anywhere," he said.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Once he was gone, Belle indulged herself in hitting her head against the desk several times. She couldn't help the feeling of guilt that came over her. Why was she flirting with him? Yes, he was attractive, ridiculously so. He was flirting back, but did she really want to be with him? And then there was Gold.

This morning he'd been flipping the sign on his door to "open" as she passed. Their eyes had met for only a moment, but Belle flushed just thinking about it. His eyes were a lovely, rich brown. She and Gold had never spoken, but she felt almost like she was betraying him by flirting with Graham. There was no relationship and there would probably never be, so the whole notion was ridiculous, of course. But now that Graham was gone, all she could think of was Gold's eyes when he had looked at her this morning and the twisting in her stomach when she imagined him overhearing her conversation with Graham just now.

She was caught by surprise when Graham came back in. "Did you find anything to help?" she asked.

Graham shook his head. Belle noticed that his eyes were a smoky green color. They were expressive eyes, filled with emotion for all the world to see. "The only thing I can suggest is security cameras or something around the book drop. Have you not considered that?"

"We have," Belle sighed. "But that sort of thing costs money and the mayor's office is reluctant to allow me extra funds." Belle knew it was Regina's doing. Regina hated her and Mary Margaret. There wasn't a good reason for it, but she did. Belle had no doubt Regina had asked her mother, the mayor, to deny the funding request.

"I understand," Graham said. "I'll see if I can do anything. Perhaps if the sheriff recommends it for the prevention of crime against public property we can get something done about it."

"Thank you," Belle said. "That would be great."

"Is that all then? I do have to get back…"

"Yeah, that's all," Belle said quickly. This man was doing strange things to her mind. The sooner he left the better.

"See you around then." Graham left with a nod.

Belle watched him go, a pair of deep brown eyes in the forefront of her memory.

Snow White woke to the sound of an anguished song. She sat up, glancing over to see that Charming was already up. She wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep for another hundred years or so, but still she hauled herself out of bed. Last night had been the best sleep she'd had in weeks. Snow didn't like to think of herself as a spoiled princess, but in her book, a bed was better than tree roots every time. And it was nice not to have to endure Hook's muffled laughter if she and Charming came within six inches of each other.

The song still drifted through the window, bringing tears to Snow's eyes. She walked out onto the balcony. The song was all too familiar these days. As Snow had guessed, a young woman led the procession in the streets below. Her voice was high and clear, singing the lament for the fallen man in the casket behind her. It was tradition for a soldier's lament to be sung in the city streets by his love, or his mother if he didn't have a girl waiting for him.

Charming silently came to stand by her, slipping an arm around her waist. Snow rested her head on his shoulder. She knew every note of the lament by heart. She no longer knew how many times she had heard it sung in the streets since the start of the war.

"How many more must die?" she asked. "How much longer must this go on?"

Charming didn't answer except to tighten his grip around her comfortingly. There was no answer. Only another sad song.

* * *

Even the sun seemed dark that morning, dimmer somehow, as if it could match the mood of the people far below. Prince Charming's company gathered in the Castle's courtyard at noon, their weapons on their belts and their backs laden with food and supplies for their mission. They were dressed in their best cloaks for the occasion—they would change to more suitable clothing for the woods later. Now they were symbols of hope and must appear as such. The seven warriors paused for a moment in front of the gate to share a look. A determined look. A resigned look. At a nod from the leader, they set out.

The court and people of the town were gathered to see them off, watching from the balconies and rooftops when there was no longer room on the streets. From the top of the gatehouse, a woman, cloaked in black, watched them, unnoticed by anyone. She counted off each of the company as they passed beneath her.

First the royal blue cloak, side by side with white. They shared an even stride, their fingers interlocked with each other's. They walked tall and proud, a forced smile on her face for the people. His mouth was fixed in a determined line. The leaders, the strong, the brave.

A red cloak followed, the hood up to hide the tear-stained face beneath. Still, she stood tall as her friends before her, determined not to show how much she was hurting. As they passed the gallows, her head turned toward it.

Behind her was a black cloak next to one of light green and yellow. They didn't walk as the first two did, farther apart, but not avoiding each other. He walked with a rather cocky strut, her steps were heavy and burdened. The hook in place of his left hand glinted in the sunlight.

Close behind them, an emerald green cloak, closely tailed by deep purple. He was set, determined. The calm after the storm. She was subtly flirting, hoping to catch him off guard.

The seven passed under the gate and over the bridge to the forest. For the last time.

* * *

**And from here on out, the plot truly begins... Leave a review before you go?**


	6. A Phantom in the Night

**Thank you for reading and reviewing and following and favoriting. It makes my day. :) Thank you also to elli.O. for her epic beta skills-especially after all the stress this chapter put her under.  
**

* * *

_Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation,_

_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination..._

~"Music of the Night" _Phantom of the Opera_

* * *

The early autumn evenings were golden. The sun streamed through the trees, catching on the edges of the changing leaves of the enchanted forest. The light seemed to be almost tangible, like a warm fountain from the sky. The forest itself was quiet. There was no sound but the calling of the birds and the occasional snap of a twig under the foot of one of the company.

For the first time in years, Belle walked alone. Graeme walked somewhere behind her, she didn't know where and she didn't let herself look back. Their lives were separate now. Remaining as "just friends" would be too painful. Maybe someday they would be able to, but not now. Hook had spent the day alternately trying to make conversation with her and Red, but neither of them felt like talking.

"Let's stop here for the night," Charming announced. "We've made good progress today. We should make it to the border in another couple days."

Everyone nodded silently and set down their packs to make camp. Graeme and Red went off to find food, Snow and Hook to get firewood. Belle set to her task of preparing a space for a fire while Regina and Charming set up shelters.

Belle's heart ached a bit to see there was one less shelter than usual. She would be in with Red now and Graeme with Hook. Snow and Charming had their own and the fourth belonged to Regina—no one wanted to share with her and she didn't want to share with anyone. The shelters were really only canvasses propped up on sticks, open towards the center of the camp, but they helped guard against wind and dew. A bit at least. The lack of privacy had allowed Belle and Graeme to share one in the past, but that was over. No longer would she wake with his arms around her. The thought hurt more than she'd expected it might.

Snow and Hook returned, Hook settling down to make the fire. Snow took Belle's hand and pulled her up. "I saw a stream not far from here. Come get water with me."

Belle nodded and grabbed the waterskins from everyone's packs while Snow fetched a pot for their supper. The stream was a lively one. Belle knew it well—they would spend the next days following it up towards the northern mountains.

"Are you going to be alright, Belle?" Snow asked gently as they knelt in the grass.

"Someday, yes," Belle said. "But it hurts. So much more that I thought it would. We were supposed to—"

"You don't have to say it," Snow said. "I know. But you must have faith that this isn't the end. I know it's too early for you to believe this, but someday you will find someone else to be happy with. Love comes in many forms with many people. Graeme was not your one and only. It's not over."

Belle nodded. She didn't want to think of loving someone else. Not now, at least. Still, a small, hidden part of her whispered that she wanted another chance at love. Someone she could truly be with. That she didn't want to pine after Graeme forever. That she wanted to love again. For now she silenced that voice, but it was there, underneath.

She filled the last waterskin in silence and walked slowly back to camp. Snow's words rang in her mind even though she didn't want to think about them yet. She found the campsite in usual form upon returning. Graeme and Red were still hunting, Regina was trying to nitpick Hook's methods of making a fire ("Seriously, woman! How many ways are there to make a fire? I'm pretty sure I've got it."), and Charming was studying what seemed to be some sort of map.

Belle replaced the waterskins in everyone's packs, only to find herself with nothing else to do afterwords. There was still a bit of time before Graeme and Red would be back—there was certainly time for a rest before getting supper ready. Her eyes were heavy from a night with little sleep and her limbs ached from walking all day. She would just take a little rest until it was time to help with dinner. A little rest couldn't hurt…

Belle woke to Red shaking her and the smell of food in the air. "Belle, it's time to eat," Red was saying.

"You should have woken me sooner," Belle said as she rose and took her place with the company around the fire. Snow handed her a bowl of soup—it was really whatever Red and Graeme had managed to catch in water with a few herbs, but it tasted good after a day of travel.

"You needed your sleep," Charming said.

For the first time any of them could remember, the silence between them felt awkward. There was too much tension. Belle and Graeme. Graeme and Red. Regina and everyone else. Hook was the first one to show is annoyance and frustration with it. First his foot tapping on the ground. Then, his hook subconsciously digging a hole in the dirt as he ate.

"So when's the betrothal ceremony?" he asked suddenly, looking at Graeme and Red. "His Majesty failed to mention in his announcement."

Everyone paused for a moment, looking around at each other before slowly continuing their meal. Belle was tense all over. She forced her arm to keep moving her spoon from her bowl to her mouth.

"Hook," Snow said, warning in her voice. Charming looked ready to jump up and intercede if the moment called for it. Regina was looking rather amused as she shifted her gaze from Hook to Red to Graeme and back again.

"I guess it will be once we return," Graeme said. His voice was conversational, but only by his force of will. "His Majesty won't waste any time for sure. He'll want it sealed soon."

"Another reason to dread returning," Red muttered.

Graeme's breath caught. He let it out slowly, visibly relaxing. "Indeed," he said mildly.

"I didn't mean it like that," Red blurted. "I'm sorry."

"I know," Graeme said. "It's alright."

Belle let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. If she hadn't still been mourning her dream with Graeme, she might have felt sorry for him and Red. They were so far from being happily married. Graeme was Snow's brother and Belle's love. Red was the only one of them who he didn't know very well. And now he was going to marry her.

The tension seemed to have eased away from everyone else with Graeme's words. Supper returned to its previous quiet and slightly awkward state.

"I've had enough of this," Hook announced.

"Care to explain?" Charming said wearily.

"Yes, I know things don't look good. Everyone's lives just got ripped to pieces. I get it. But seriously, we can't just sit around moping. If this is going to be our last mission together, let's at least make it a good one." He finished his little speech with a wink at Snow.

"He's right," Red said, nodding. "We can deal with everything when we get back. But we need to concentrate and do well on this."

"Agreed," Belle and Graeme said at the same time, giving each other rather awkward grins. (Why must everything be awkward between them? It was so natural only a day ago…)

"For once, I agree with the pirate," Regina said. Belle smiled a little. Regina and Hook actually agreed on a lot of things. She just didn't want to look like too much of a decent person. It was as if one agreeable word would shatter her reputation.

Charming nodded. "You're right. We can't let our troubles pull us down like this. We have a task ahead of us. It's simple enough, but crucial for the war. We need to do our very best and try to celebrate our last days together rather than mourn them before they're gone." He raised his waterskin. Everyone followed suit. "To one last mission."

"One last mission," they repeated and drank. It wasn't glamorous. Actually they looked rather ridiculous, toasting each other with water like that. But Belle didn't care.

"And Hook?" Charming added. "Don't wink at my wife."

* * *

Belle's fingers paused their typing for a moment and reached blindly for the glass of water on the desk next to her. She brought it to her lips, tilting it back farther… and farther… and it was empty. Damn. Sighing, she made her way to the small kitchen to refill it. It was Sunday, her day off, so she was using every minute for writing.

This was the first idea that had lasted. She could barely believe that here she was, nearly two weeks later, still writing. The passion for it still coursed through her. She still couldn't wait to sit down and write. This had never happened before. It was strange… alien. Usually, even if she liked an idea, she had to force herself to focus and get the words on the page. But here they poured from her fingertips like a waterfall, nearly tripping over each other in the rush to the paper. It was magical, empowering, intoxicating, almost as if she was not writing them, but typing a story dictated to her from some unseen force.

Humming lightly with the music that drifted in from her laptop, Belle filled her glass at the sink. Just as she was turning off the tap, however, something cold and wet touched her feet. She looked down to see water seeping out from the cupboard under the sink. She muttered curses as she knelt down and opened the cupboard. The water on the floor left dark patches on the knees of her sweatpants.

Sure enough, one of the pipes was leaking everywhere. She so did not have time for this. It was supposed to be Writing Day. Not Fix-the-Apartment Day.

She fetched a towel from the closet to try to soak up the water, but it was still leaking even though the faucet was off. She thought about going upstairs to ask for help before she remembered that the owners were out of town for the weekend. Great. Just great.

She pulled out her phone, wondering who would be open to help her on a Sunday. Or more like, who did she know who knew how to deal something like this? Her fingers hovered over David's name a moment before pressing "call". She didn't like to bother him, but maybe he would know someone.

"Belle?" he answered after a few rings. "What's up? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It's my sink. It's spurting water everywhere."

"Where's the water coming from?" David asked.

"The sink, I said that."

"No, which pipe? Up to the faucet or down from the drain?"

Belle knelt back down to look under the sink. "I don't know," she said. "All the pipes look the same."

David sighed. "Just stay there. I'm coming over. Call me back if it gets worse."

He arrived five minutes later, his truck nearly taking down some of her trees, just like always. Belle met him at the door, still in her soggy sweats and a t-shirt. He was looking like he'd just rolled out of bed to come and help her—which she was more than grateful for. She wasn't sure how she was going to pay for the water damage and it would only get worse from here on out.

"You really need to cut those trees back," he said, right on schedule. He said the same thing every time he stopped by. All her friends had told her she should cut them back and that there wasn't really enough room to get into her driveway. But she didn't own a car, so her motivation to fix the problem wasn't too pressing.

"That's a project for another day," Belle said. "My sink is spewing water at the moment."

David laughed as he set his toolbox down on the kitchen floor. "'Spewing'?"

"Yeah. So what?"

"Nothing," he said. "Just that it must be Writing Day."

Belle laughed and hopped up to sit on the edge of the counter. David opened up the cupboard and nearly got hit in the face with a jet of water.

"Well, it's leaking alright," he said. He stuck his head under, tinkering with something Belle couldn't see. "I can fix it, it just might take me a while. Do you need to be anywhere this morning?"

"Nope. As you said: Writing Day." She took the box of dish soap and the trashcan he handed her and dumped them in the hall. They were soaked, but she could take care of it later. The soap was probably ruined though. She didn't think it was supposed to get wet before it went in the dishwasher.

"How the writing coming?" David asked, his voice distorted by the cupboard it was in. "Mary Margaret mentioned you were actually getting a good amount done."

"Yeah. Finally," Belle muttered. "It's coming along nicely. I guess."

"You guess? And can you hand me the wrench in the top compartment on the left? The silver one?"

Belle hopped back off the counter to sort through the toolbox. It wasn't on the left, but she didn't mention it. It was easy enough to find. "Yeah," she said. "I don't know, but I can't seem to write the scenes I want to. Snow White is supposed to be the main character, but I don't have that many scenes with her. I keep writing about her friends, Belle and Red."

"Well then doesn't that make them the main characters?" David asked. He took the wrench from her once he noticed that she was holding it out to him. The subsequent sounds coming from under the sink sounded like he was just banging it against the pipes, but Belle was certain whatever he was doing must be more productive than that.

"No," Belle said, resuming her position on the counter. "The story's still about Snow and her rivalry with Regina. I just have to veer it back towards that theme. Belle and Red are subplots."

"And I take it that I shouldn't comment about how you named one of your characters after yourself?"

"Nope."

"Okay then. It sounds like a good story to me."

"You don't even know what it's really about," Belle protested.

"So? You wrote it."

Belle blushed a little, thankful he was still under the sink and couldn't see her. "It's strange," she said, almost to herself. "It's like I have no control over the story. Scenes appear and I wonder where they came from. I mean, I could just delete them, but I don't want to. It's almost as if deleting them would be ripping out something important. I dunno."

"Aren't you the one writing it?" David asked. "Aren't you the one deciding what to write?"

"It doesn't work that way. The story writes itself and I just have to follow along."

"That makes no sense at all, but I'll go with it."

Belle smiled to herself. David was good to talk to about this. Mary Margaret would wonder if something was wrong with her and Ruby would try to argue that Belle was the writer, therefore Belle was in charge. If only.

"Would you like some tea?" Belle asked, sliding off the counter.

"Tea? Why tea?"

She laughed. "It just seems like the thing one ought to offer the man who comes over on a Sunday morning to fix a leaking sink."

David joined her laughter. "Well then. I'll have some tea. But don't you need water from the sink to do that?"

"I can sneak upstairs if I need more than what's in the kettle."

She set the tea to brewing and left him alone to work, pacing her living room. She was itching to write—she didn't know what would happen next in this strange story of hers, but she could feel its importance pressing against her mind. But it seemed rude to slip into her fairy world with David here, so she paced.

The kettle went off and she rushed to get it. She readied two cups and set one on the counter above David's head. "Thanks," he said around the wrench he was now holding in his mouth.

She settled back on the counter and took a sip of her tea. "I'm sorry for pulling you away this morning. I hope you weren't busy."

"Not too busy," he said once he took the wrench out of his mouth. "I was with Mary Margaret."

"Oh," Belle said awkwardly, trying not to imagine—

David sat up suddenly, realizing what Belle had assumed. "Not like that! We—ow." He'd whacked his head on the top of the cupboard.

"Are you alright?" Belle asked, starting to jump down to help him.

"I'm fine. I didn't hit it that hard."

She settled back on the counter and took another sip of tea. "So what were you doing with Mary Margaret this morning if 'not like that'?"

"Oh," he said. "We were just—I met her at Granny's for breakfast. We hadn't seen each other in a few days and this was when we were both free."

"I hope I didn't interrupt—"

"You didn't. We were just finishing when you called."

She nodded. A third sip of tea. Then a fourth. The sounds of gentle clanking and the occasional fizz of water came from beneath the sink. They made a sort of happy, whimsical music. A tune formed in Belle's head and she almost started to whistle it before remembering that David was here. "I'm so glad you and Mary Margaret are happy together," she said instead.

"So am I," David said. "She's wonderful and I still have no idea why she agreed to marry me."

"I dunno. You seem like a pretty nice guy to me," Belle teased. It was rather disappointing to talk with him when she couldn't see his face. But he was fixing her sink for free, so she'd live through it. "You're going to be great together."

"What about you?" David asked. "Any handsome young man on the horizon? Mary Margaret told me something about her brother…"

"Yeah, seems he's got half the town after him," Belle said carefully. It was one thing to admit her crush to Ruby or Mary Margaret. It was another thing to discuss it with David.

"Including you?"

"I—" she paused. Her mind was full of the image of deep brown eyes. Mr. Gold. "I guess," she said uncertainly.

David accepted the response without question. A moment later, he slid out of the cupboard, careful of his head. "That should do it. Call me if it starts up again."

Belle nodded. "Thank you so much."

"Anytime."

She watched his truck driving away—almost hitting the trees again. She stood at the window a moment longer after he was gone, lost in watching the leaves flutter down from the trees. After a moment she started suddenly. Writing. Right. She gathered her tea and brought it back to her computer. The words were burning, desperate to get free.

She began to type.

* * *

All was quiet. It always was at this time of night. Belle sat beside the slowly dying fire, her knees tucked up against her so they could fit under the blanket around her shoulders. The light was a soft orange, tinged with the black of the night. The outlines of her friends and comrades—some more a friend and others more a comrade—were barely visible anymore. The clouds had moved in during the day, making the night sky lightless.

The second watch was always her favorite. No one else liked it—yes, it meant a broken night of sleep, but it was also quiet. There was just darkness. Graeme had woken her at midnight, his hands achingly familiar. There had been no secret smiles or stolen kisses as she woke and he lay down to sleep. Not anymore.

Belle turned around so her other side could be warmed by the fire. The night had brought the chill of the autumn. If the mission went well then they could hopefully be back before the cold really set in. But maybe the cold would be worth it if they could all be together for a few more days.

With the stars hidden, it was impossible to tell when the watch was over. Regina had decided to show her more human side and volunteer for the third watch, telling Belle to wake her whenever. "You're tired," she'd said. "We can't have you falling over during the march tomorrow. I'll take over whenever you can't handle it anymore." She said it harshly, but it was the best one could get with Regina.

Graeme stirred and coughed in his sleep, startling Belle. It was an endearing sound. One that she would never hear after this mission. _No_, she told herself. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself. She was stronger, better than this. She loved Graeme, but she couldn't anymore. She needed to accept that and move on. Not sit around moping like a lost puppy.

The sharp crack of a stick drew her from her thoughts. She looked around, careful to keep her breathing regular. Better to let any foes think she hadn't heard. She listened carefully. There was no more sound. If it was an ambush surely there would be something to hear now that she was paying proper attention. Nothing. Only the crickets.

She drew her knife slowly from her belt and stood. It wasn't much of a weapon, but her others were with her pack. It would take too long to fetch them. Slowly, she walked towards where she had heard the sound. There was nothing in the forest. Not that she could see.

Waking Charming would be the right thing to do. Having someone with her was smart. But the lure of curiosity was too much for her to stop now. She stepped into the forest. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was no one there. Another step. Still no one. Maybe it had just been an animal. Maybe she was out of her mind. Or dreaming. She'd been so tired today. A third step.

He seemed to appear out of nowhere. A man—but not a man. His skin glittered in the glint of the firelight from the camp. His hair was ragged and he wore an ornate leather ensemble Belle couldn't quite make out in the shifting light. She gasped at the sight of him, surprised.

He looked equally surprised to see her. As if he hadn't known she was there. Or as if he hadn't expected to be noticed. He looked her up and down, his eyes gently roving over her, studying, memorizing. She was suddenly, irrationally self-conscious under his gaze. Her clothes were travel stained and her hair had come loose down her back. There were most likely bags under her eyes and she was all flushed on one side from the fire's uneven heat.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people like that, you know," she said, holding herself steady and trying to display the confidence she didn't truly feel. There was something disconcerting about this… was he even a man? "You could get yourself killed. I could have stabbed you."

He looked even more surprised at her forward instruction. His eyes widened a moment, and then he let out a high pitched giggle.

"Perhaps it's _you_ who ought to be more careful, dearie," he said. His voiced was high and mocking, as if he was disguising it or wasted or not even human. It didn't repulse her though, only sparked her curiosity further. He reached out and brushed the back of his hand over her wayward curls, a manic grin on his face. "You never know what might lurk in the woods at night."

Belle was frozen, unable to move. His touch was light and his voice much too excited for the the threat in his words. Still, she was entranced by him. Who was he? Why was he here? She started to form the words to ask him as he stepped back.

Still grinning, he vanished in a cloud of purple smoke.


	7. A Dream in the Daylight

**Thank you so much for reading this, dearie :) **

**Special thanks to my reviewers and elli.O., my beta and best friend. Hope you guys like the new chapter!  
**

* * *

Mr. Gold was not like most people: he didn't hate Monday mornings. For him, Mondays were no different than any other day of the week. He opened his shop like any other day. Same time. Same way. The only difference about Monday mornings was Belle. Her day off was Sunday, so Monday he saw her again after being without her for a day.

This morning she slowed more than usual on her way past his shop—but not until she saw him. She snuck a glance through the blinds at him as habit (No, he told himself. He wasn't watching for her. Not this morning.) and started a bit when she met his eyes. Resisting the urge to look down or away, he kept his gaze steady towards her. She was beautiful as ever this morning. All blue eyes and wayward curls and ridiculous red heels that only barely matched her green dress.

She looked curiously at him for a long moment as if trying to recall something about him. Then a second later she realized she was staring and hurried away.

Mr. Gold smiled a little to himself. Mondays weren't just another day. Actually, this Monday was an excellent day indeed.

* * *

Belle took a bite of pancakes, careful not to let syrup drip onto her shirt. She didn't have time to go home and change. And after this morning, she wasn't sure she wanted to walk by Mr. Gold's shop again for a while. The look in his eyes—it had been so familiar. As if she'd seen it elsewhere, in a dream.

The diner was relatively empty this time of day. Being the single employee of the library, Belle had the freedom to choose her hours. If that meant she wanted to open later than most businesses in Storybrooke, she generally had the freedom to do so. And it meant she could get breakfast at Granny's most days after the usual morning crowd had cleared out.

"Belle? Are you going to eat that?" Ruby asked, leaning on the counter next to her.

Startled, Belle realized she'd been holding her fork in midair for several minutes while she zoned out, the image of Mr. Gold and his eyes filling her thoughts. She promptly put her fork in her mouth. "Happy?" she asked Ruby once she swallowed.

"Sure." Her voice was flat as she turned back to the register.

"Ruby," Belle said sternly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"I don't believe that for a second. What's going on? Did something happen?"

Ruby continued examining the register—Belle knew enough to know she was faking work. After a moment longer, Ruby's resolve broke and she turned back to Belle. "Archie told me not to try to talk to him again."

Belle drew in a sharp breath. It had taken years for Ruby to gather the courage to talk to Archie and even longer to admit that she wanted more than friendship. "What?"

"Granny put him up to it. But he thinks it's best if we just stay away from each other from now on." Ruby blinked back tears. Belle reached across the counter to cover Ruby's hand with her own.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's fine." Ruby pulled her hands out from under Belle's and roughly wiped her eyes. "If he's going to be like this, he's hardly worth it."

"Do you need me to head across the street and kick his sorry butt?" Belle said. "I think I still have time before work."

"Time before work for a butt-kicking?" Ruby laughed.

"Something like that," Belle responded with a grin. "I'm a librarian you know. We're quite ferocious when we want to be."

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Yeah…"

"Hey," Belle said quietly. "It's not all that bad. And weren't you after Graham anyway?"

The mention of the sheriff seemed to do the trick. Ruby brightened and grinned mischievously. "He comes in here after he gets off work a lot."

"Does he talk to you?" Belle asked. She wasn't sure how she could possibly be rooting for Ruby's prospects with Graham at the same time she was interested in him herself. Maybe it was just better her than Regina. Or maybe she was still in denial of exactly how far she'd fallen for a certain pawnbroker…

Ruby nodded. "He usually sits right here and we talk a bit while I'm not working." She bit her lip a moment before leaning in and saying, "He's a lot more interesting now than he was before he left."

"I should think so," Belle said. "He's not the guy we remember. He's a grown man."

"That's for certain."

"Ruby!" Belle hissed.

"What? Anything you got out of that was all in your head. I wasn't implying anything."

"Yeah right you weren't," Belle said, pink touching her cheeks. "And anyway, I'm glad you're getting some time with Graham. He's much better than, well, you know…"

"Archie," Ruby finished. "Yeah. I'm just glad I have someone to move on to."

It was then that none other than Regina Mills appeared from behind them. "Excuse me for overhearing, but you don't."

"What?" Belle said. She was forever trying and failing to come up with a more intelligent response to things. At least it was better than "huh?" which had been the story of high school for her.

Regina glared at Ruby and Belle. "Graham is mine. Don't try to stick your nose where it doesn't belong if you know what's good for you."

"Are you here for a reason, or are you leaving yet?" Ruby snapped.

"I'll be reporting your rudeness to Granny," Regina said coolly. "I'm sure that sort of behavior isn't ideal for attracting customers."

"Then why don't you leave?" Belle asked, keeping her voice as sweet as possible.

"I'm here to get coffee for Graham and me." The smirk on her face made Belle want to vomit.

"Graham doesn't like coffee," Ruby said. "He drinks cappuccino or coke for caffeine." Belle almost chocked on her pancake at the expression on Regina's face at that. Trust Ruby to know every little detail about the man.

"Don't be ridiculous," Regina said. "You have no way to know that. Two coffees please."

Ruby shrugged and turned to make the coffees while Regina seethed. It only took a glance in her direction for Belle to earn herself a patented Regina Mills death glare. Ruby handed Regina the coffees and took the payment. As Regina left, Ruby called after her, "Don't blame me when he doesn't like it. Some of us actually take the time to talk to a man before throwing ourselves at him."

The door shut behind Regina a little more forcefully than usual.

* * *

Charming's favorite part of a mission was not the trek there. He didn't mind it, of course. It was nice to be able to walk through silent forests without having to constantly be on alert for the enemy. It was nice to have Snow beside him, her hand in his. It was nice to be away from his father and the war, even as they marched away from the former and toward the latter.

All the same, the journey to the front lines was always accompanied by a feeling of dread that only grew stronger with every step. This could be that mission. This could be the one where he lost a man. This could be the one where they were ambushed. Stories of the horrors of the war constantly came back from the front lines. Even years after the King had banned their telling, they were still whispered in secret in the barracks or while training. So far, Charming had been lucky to escape with nothing worse than broken limbs or a cracked rib from his company. But this could be the mission that changed his luck.

Snow raised their entwined hands and kissed his knuckles which were still bruised from their encounter with the Castle wall. "Charming," she said.

"Yes?" He shook his head a bit, startled from his thoughts.

"Nothing. It took a while to get your attention."

"Sorry. I was… lost in thought."

"I noticed." Her smile was sweet and playful, so characteristic of his lovely bride. "I'm going to go walk with Graeme for a bit."

"What? You don't like me as much as him?" he teased.

"Look at him."

Snow was right. The Huntsman walked several paces ahead of the company. His shoulders were still tall and proud, but the usual ease in his gait was gone. "Go then," Charming said. "He needs you more than I."

Snow nodded and kissed his lips, lingering long enough to make her point very clear: she most definitely liked him more. She walked away from him backwards, grinning saucily. Charming winked back at her. His wife was certainly the fairest of them all. Charming knew many men who would say the same of their own wives (and many more who wouldn't), and maybe they were right. But of them all, Snow White was the only one to whom he had given his heart. It was that more than anything that made her the fairest.

Charming slowed to let the rest of the company pass him. He wasn't too fond of walking alone. At least in the back he could make it seem as if he was guarding their tail.

This way it was also harder to see Graeme and Snow up in the front of the group. He wasn't jealous—Graeme was like a brother to Snow, nothing more. But it wasn't his business to overhear their conversation, so he kept his distance.

They passed over a brook and through clearings and little spots of meadows that were covered in orange autumn flowers. The chill wind nipped at Charming's exposed neck and face, keeping him alert in the monotony of the march.

As they passed over another small stream, Charming waited for Regina to step over delicately. She insisted on wearing heeled boots out in the wild. Usually it wasn't a problem, but now she tripped on an uneven tree root and lurched forward.

Charming jumped across the stream to catch her. Her arms wrapped around him instinctively before she realized who had caught her. She pushed him back, almost upsetting his balance and sending him toppling in the stream before he steadied himself.

"What was that for?" she snapped irritably. "I don't need your help."

"If you wanted me to let you fall in the water you should have said so," Charming replied. She glared at him, only to trip again on her next step. Charming caught her arm this time as she wobbled a bit.

"Thank you," she said tersely.

"My pleasure," Charming said, giving her an elaborate bow. She smiled a bit—the closest thing to a laugh he was going to get out of her. They continued to walk side by side, hurrying a bit to catch up with the others.

"So did Snow White abandon you for her handsome huntsman?" Regina sneered.

"Not at all. He needs her with him right now. That's all."

Regina frowned at his nonplussed response. She was trying to needle him, but it wasn't going to work. He was more than used to his step-sister-in-law by now.

"What about you? Are you doing alright?" he asked. "I'm sorry if you've been a bit ignored recently. It's been a difficult time for all of us."

Regina nodded. "I might not always look it, but I'm not heartless," she said. "I'm just as upset that this is our last mission as the rest of you."

"Going to miss out on having less opportunity to curse us all?" Charming teased lightly, unsure how she would take it. Fortunately she graced him with another smile.

"I'm going to miss having friends. Sorceresses aren't usually acceptable company in the realms."

"You'll always have us, Regina. All of us. You're family." He was glad she was willing to talk with him. Maybe it was because everyone else walked in front and her civility could go unnoticed.

"You're just saying that."

"Am I? I don't know. I thought family was defined by people you wanted to seriously maim more often than not."

"Seriously maim? I could turn you into a newt between one breath and the next, Highness. I'd watch your tongue if I were you."

Charming laughed a bit, then watched his company. They walked ahead of them, paying no attention to him and Regina. He let his eyes fall on each of them, instinctively counting each member. All still here. All still safe. For now. But which one could be injured this time? Which one might not come back? Which one would he fail to protect?

Regina laid a hand on his arm. "No's going to die," she said softly. "We're all going to come out of this. Together."

* * *

It was one of those beautiful yet strange fall days where the air felt like winter and the sun like summer. It was bright and the slight breeze made the fallen leaves dance in little circles over the sidewalk. By noon, the library felt like a cage rather than a sanctuary for Belle. Once again, she was glad to be the master of her own schedule as she took her lunch out to the park behind the elementary school.

Despite the nice weather, the park wasn't too crowded, for which Belle was thankful. There were a few couples walking together around the pond and a group of teens who could only be skipping school. There were several blankets spread out on the grass where mothers sat, their children running around them in their games. And the sound of music… Where…? There. Sitting on a bench was none other than Killian Jones and his guitar.

Belle smiled and headed toward him. He was playing his original song again. Its melody was sweet and perfect for the nice day.

"_I've sang with the stars,_

_Been in worlds far away,_

_Looked over a rainbow,_

_Held sunbeams of day._

_Oh I want you to see,_

_But try as I may,_

_You__'re as close as the stars,_

_But still worlds and worlds away.__"_

He gave her a smile and a wink as she sat down on the bench next to him. She ate while he finished the song, closing her eyes and just glad to have the breeze on her face and the music beside her. She was able to properly relax like this. If she could, she would spend all day on that bench. But if Regina saw her here, news would get back to the mayor and Belle would be out of a job. Then again, if she was out of a job she could always see if Mr. Gold needed any help in his shop...

Killian's song ended and he set his guitar gently back in its case. "Hey there," he said.

"Hey," Belle replied, opening her eyes. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Same." He seemed a little out of it, sad almost. But Killian Jones was never sad.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "Just thinking."

"About what?" She tried to keep her tone light, even if he was really starting to worry her. This wasn't like him at all.

"I want to quit my job," he said finally, confidently. "At the docks, I mean. I wasn't meant to spend my life sweeping boardwalks and directing sailboats."

"What are you going to do instead?" Belle was unsure where he was going with this. Killian was notorious for being unable to hold any other job than the one he had. Every time he tried to quit and do something else, he ended up back at the docks within a month. No one else would even consider hiring him anymore. It wasn't that he was a bad worker—he was just a flirt and spent most of his time composing music in his head instead of paying attention.

"Music is my passion. I can't spend my days doing menial labor anymore. It's interfering with my music."

"What are you going to do instead?" She didn't think it would be very tactful to go ahead and point out that he'd been fired from every other job on the planet, even if he must know she was thinking it. "Like everyone else on the planet, a source of income is necessary."

"Which is why you're the librarian."

Belle sighed. "Yeah."

"We're in the same boat, love. You just happen to like your day job."

Belle sighed. His eyes were intense on her. "But about the docks," she said, bringing the focus off herself and her numerous failures at writing. "You need some sort of income."

"Unfortunately."

His voice was so dryly disappointed Belle couldn't help her laughter. "So what are you going to do if you quit your job?" she said once she'd calmed down.

"Why do you think I'm here today? I'm hoping someone's willing to give me something for the music."

"So you're begging?" Belle said, trying not to smile.

"Not exactly."

"How is this not begging?" she asked. "This isn't New York. We don't just have street performers in Storybrooke."

"I'm not begging. I'm… asking nicely for compensation for my talent."

"So refined begging?"

He glared at her. "No. I'm earning my money playing guitar. It counts."

A sudden thought came to her and she fiddled with her half-eaten sandwich nervously. "Do you want me to go then? Am I distracting you?"

"Eh, it's not like I was making anything before you showed up." He picked up the guitar again and began to pick a soothing pattern. His fingers moved, lightly, expertly. It took him no concentration—he was staring off over the small pond. It was like playing was a subconscious reaction to holding the instrument.

"So you're serious about quitting?" she asked, bringing him back to reality.

"Yeah. I'm just going to try to save up a bit and then I'm gone."

"You do realize this is what you were saying six months ago, right?"

He sighed. "I know. But I hate this life. I don't want to clean some dock all day. I want to make music. So something has to change."

"You do make music. At Granny's and I know you have other gigs—"

"It's not the same and you know it," he said. The tone of his picking turned minor—soft and sad. Belle found it rather amusing: he probably didn't even realize he was playing, but all the same it changed to match his mood.

"You're not going to get what you're looking for here," she said. "You need to be in a big city like New York or Chicago."

Killian nodded. "But a move like that takes money. So we're back to square one with me playing in a park in the afternoon."

"You could just leave. Move to a city and start from nothing. It wouldn't be easy, but it's been done. I think you have the talent to make it."

He grinned and the music became joyful again, faster and with a bit of a swing. "Trying to get rid of me, love? I see how it is. It all meant nothing between us. You never really loved me."

"I don't want to know the story behind that comment," Mary Margaret said, coming up to them.

Killian stood and walked over to put his arm around her. "You see, Belle, it doesn't matter. Mary Margaret and I have something even more special."

"We do?" Mary Margaret asked, a smile growing on her face.

"Yes, we do."

"Alright then. Nice to see you too, Killian," she said. "Just don't tell David. He'd be devastated."

"It's our little secret, love." He let go of her and positively sauntered back to bench, picking up his guitar again. Mary Margaret walked over to stand in front of them, looking rather lost.

"Hey, are you alright?" Belle asked her.

"It's been a long day. I should head back. The kids are almost done with lunch."

"I'll come with you," Belle offered. "I need to head back to work anyway. Good luck with your music, Killian."

"I'll play every song in your honor," he said, winking.

Belle waited until they were out of Killian's range of hearing before she asked again, "Are you alright?"

"I guess," Mary Margaret sighed.

"What's up?"

"It's David's father," Mary Margaret said. "He was fine for months after David proposed, but now that we're starting wedding preparations, he's started up again."

"The same as usual?"

"Yeah. I'm not worthy of his son. Kathryn Price is such a better choice. David's a disappointment as a son. Et cetera, et cetera." She sighed yet again. "It doesn't bother me all that much, but it's taking a toll on David."

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing that can be done. We just have to wait for him to accept that he can't do anything about this anymore. I need to turn here," she said, nodding to the left. "Have a nice day, Belle."

"You too. Feel free to stop by and vent if you need to. Or send David if you're tired of listening to him."

"I will."

Belle walked back to the library, not really paying attention to where she was going, lost in thought. Mr. Nolan had been a right pain about David and Mary Margaret from the beginning. She was just glad that their love was strong enough to get them through it. Those two were the ideal couple—of course, they had their problems like anyone else, but Belle had to admire their commitment.

She accidentally brushed against someone on her way past. She looked to apologize, but the words died in her throat. It was Mr. Gold.

He gave her a small nod and a half-smile and walked on, leaving Belle standing still in the street, her arm tingling where she'd touched him. Shaking herself out of shock, she hurried back to the library. Killian had said something that would work for her story…

* * *

"We're in the same boat, love," Hook said that afternoon. Belle had found herself walking beside him again. He was easiest to be with right now. Just a comforting friend. Someone to make her laugh. When he wasn't making odd comments like this.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Neither of us particularly wants to return from this journey."

"None of us do."

"Yes, but everyone else has something to go back to. Snow and Charming have each other, as do Graeme and Red. Regina has more than enough opportunity as a sorceress. You and I? Nothing." He took her arm in his. Belle let him, looking ahead and not replying. There was nothing to say. He was right. His recruitment to this company had saved him from the gallows on the charge of piracy. She had no family, no kingdom, and no fiancé. A woman of her position wouldn't get another chance to serve in the army like this. It was all over.

"I had the most bizarre dream last night," she said abruptly. There was no real reason to tell Hook about it, but it was something to talk about. Something that didn't involve depressing thoughts of the future.

"Really?"

"Yeah." She smiled to herself. "Don't tell anyone, but I think I fell asleep during my watch last night."

Hook leaned down wink and say, "Don't tell anyone, but I do that every single time." They laughed. Belle didn't usually walk with Hook—he was a terrible flirt. But when he wasn't trying to seduce her, he wasn't that bad. Thankfully he had enough tact not to make a move so soon after her… breakup with Graeme. "What was the dream?" he asked.

"That's what's weird. I'm not sure it was a dream. But it must have been." The man's skin. The irresistible lure of the dark forest. Her completely illogical actions.

"What do you mean you're not sure? Either you were sleeping—" He paused, obviously trying to think of what else she might have been doing. "Or you weren't," he finished lamely.

"I mean, I don't know if it really happened or if I dreamed it." she started. How could she describe it? When she had gone back this morning, there hadn't been any tracks in the forest. She'd even asked Graeme, who had only given her an odd look and said that the only people around the camp had been the seven of them. "It took place in our camp. Everything looked the same, but it was weird. Strange things were happening…"

"Like what?"

"I was keeping watch and heard something in the forest. So I went to check it out but I didn't take a torch or wake anyone up. Then there was this man in the forest. He wasn't quite human. His skin was scaly almost and glittered in the firelight. He was dressed strangely too, all in elaborate leather. He told me to be careful being out in the woods and then he vanished."

"Vanished?"

Belle nodded. "Just up into the air with a cloud of smoke. I don't really remember anything after that."

"Sounds like a dream to me, love," Hook said.

"It must be. But it felt so real." The warmth of the fire. The fear in the pit of her belly as she headed into darkness. The timbre of his voice. The surprise in his eyes upon seeing her—his eyes. Warm and brown, the irises too large to be quite normal. The hint of insanity there.

Hook looked at her closely, concerned. "Maybe you shouldn't be on watch for a while."

Belle sighed. "Yeah, well, I'm on for tonight again. First watch."

"I'll take it," he said. "You get some sleep. Don't let it bother you."

"I think it's going to bother me anyway." She ducked under a low-hanging branch. She couldn't get this dream out of her head. It had taken up residence with no sign of leaving any time soon.

"Don't dwell on it. It's just a dream." It was sweet of him to sound so concerned for her.

"Right," she said. "Only a dream."

* * *

**I'm working on chapter 8 now and it's getting exciting... for me at least. Hopefully you guys will agree. A review before you go?**


	8. A Man, Not A Monster

**Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy this chapter. (And here I'm going to thank elli.O. because I like making her blush-she's the _only_ reason Rumpelstiltskin sounds like the Rumpelstiltskin we all know and love in this chapter. He was giving me so many headaches.)**

* * *

_Flattering child, you shall know me,_

_See why in shadows I lie._

_Look at your face in the mirror— _

_I am there inside!_

~"Angel of Music", _Phantom of the Opera_

* * *

By the third morning of their march, it wasn't quite so difficult anymore. None of them liked traveling through the woods when the memories of Castle life were so fresh. The first few days always felt worse, no matter how brief their rest had been. Belle suspected the weariness was mostly in her head, but that didn't make her any less glad those days were over.

Charming called them to a halt shortly after noon.

"We're about a half day's march from the border of the kingdom," he said. "I want to cross it in daylight, so we'll stop here for today."

Hook gave a cheer, earning him an elbow in the ribs from Regina. He started to swipe his hook at her, only to have Red grab his wrist. "Not necessary," she said waspishly.

Everyone set down their packs and began to make camp. It was a calming routine, and a loved one. Again, Belle was reminded that this was their last mission together. How many more times would they make camp before going their separate ways? How many days? How many mornings? How many steps left in their journey?

Belle fetched some water from the nearby stream they'd been following all day. The water was sweet and cool. She splashed some on her dirty face and tried to wash out the grit under her nails. There would be one upside to being back at the Castle for good: regular baths. She filled the rest of the waterskins and the cooking pot quickly, knowing better than to waste too much time alone. They were near enemy territory now. It wasn't safe this close to the border.

As she stood, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Water sloshed out of the pot and left wet stains on her boots as she twisted to look. There was nothing there. Maybe it had been a bird… but there were birds all over the place. Surely one wouldn't catch her attention like that or make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. It was probably nothing. Nonetheless, she hurried back to camp.

"Are you alright?" Snow asked as she took the pot from Belle. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I was startled by a bird, that's all," she lied easily. "It…" She trailed off as again she saw something move in the trees. It was a figure, a man. "Do you see that?" she asked Snow, pointing.

Snow turned and squinted hard, but turned back after a moment. "There's nothing there." She touched a hand to Belle's forehead. "Do you feel alright? Maybe you should lie down. You've been so tired—"

"I'll be right back," she said, getting up and nearly running from the camp in the direction of the shadowy figure in the woods. Once she was a ways from the camp, Belle slowed, looking again for the figure she had seen. The sounds of her comrades were distant, giving the illusion that she was alone in the vast forest. She looked around for the figure she'd seen twice now, but the only sight she was met with was the green leaves and moss on the trees.

Wait. There it was again.

Belle hurried towards it. It was definitely a man, but he was too far away for her to make out any distinct feature. The closer she came, the slower he walked away. Belle knew she should go back— or at the very least call for someone to come with her, but the pull of her curiosity was too strong. Somehow she knew that if she turned back, he would be gone by the time she returned with someone.

With every step she took, her mind screamed that this was a bad, stupid, idiotic, idea. These lands were dangerous. She shouldn't be off alone. He was trying to lead her away from the others. She didn't have to follow. But still she continued on.

The figure didn't stop until he came to the river. He stood facing it, his hands clasped behind his back, looking straight ahead. Upon closer look, she realized he was standing _in_ the river, but his boots were dry. The water parted subtly around him. He gave no indication that he knew she was there, though he must. Belle came up behind him slowly, cautiously. He was without a doubt the man she had seen in her dream—though now she was beginning to doubt that it had been a dream at all. He seemed so real. And he was waiting for her.

He looked different in the light of day. Not so mysterious, but dangerous all the same. She could now see the details of the high-collared leather jacket he wore and the true dull brown of his scraggly hair. He seemed familiar almost, like she had met him years and years before she'd ever seen him in her "dream".

"Well, dearie," he said suddenly. "I must say I'm impressed."

"Impressed?" That was the last word Belle would have expected him to use.

"You followed me," he said, still not looking back at her. "That's not supposed to happen when I'm invisible."

"You don't look very invisible to me," Belle pointed out, a little shocked that she had the nerve to do so. There was something powerful about this man. Something most people would cower before, but not her. She wasn't afraid even if she felt she had every reason to be.

He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised in surprise, the corner of his lips twitching towards a smile. "Not to you, dearie. Just to everyone else."

"Why?" she blurted without thinking. "I mean, is there a reason?" she corrected, trying to sound a little more polite.

"I have a theory or two," he said. Belle wanted to ask what they were, but his expression gave the distinct impression that he wasn't going to share.

"Who are you? Why were you there the other night? Why are you following us?" she asked.

His lips twitched again at the onslaught of questions. "Whoever said I was following you, dearie? What if you're the ones following me?"

"I'm not the one leading," Belle said. "And you just said Charming can't see you."

He looked her over curiously. "So I did."

Belle waited for him to answer her questions, but he seemed content to merely study her, so she asked again, "Who are you?"

"The Dark One," he replied. "The Sorcerer. The Crocodile. The Dealmaker. Call me what you like, dearie."

"The Crocodile?" Belle asked.

"It's a long tale and one that I do not wish to recount," he said. "The question is, who are you?"

"Belle of Avonlea," she said quickly. "But you said you were the Dark One. Isn't there more than one?"

He giggled again, high and maniacal. It would have been terrifying if Belle could have brought herself to be afraid. But he wasn't frightening to her. She… trusted him. Instinctively. She couldn't explain it, but she somehow knew without a doubt that he would never hurt her. "Not many people know that, dearie," he said.

"I'm King George's librarian," Belle said. "It's my business to know things a lot of people don't."

He smirked at that. "You are correct," he said after a moment. "There are two others: the Witch and the Mage."

"Is it true then?" she asked excitedly. The Dark Ones were such a mystery to the realms. No one truly knew who they were or the limits of their powers—if their powers even had limits. There was very little written record of them and it was nearly impossible to sort out the fact from the fiction in old wives' tales. "Are you the master of magic? Do you live forever? Is there truly nothing that can kill you? How long have you been a Dark One? Were you a man once?"

"Ah, ah, ah," he cut her off, shaking a long, glittering finger at her. "Some questions ought not to be asked, dearie."

Belle closed her mouth and took a breath before trying again. "Why were you there the other night? When I saw you."

"I'm not following you, if that's what you're asking," he said. Belle was rather mesmerized with his voice. Everything he said and did—every gesture, every word—was expressive. Every bit of it was dramatic and exaggerated, but at the same time a distraction from his real purpose. It was fascinating.

"Then what were you doing there?" she demanded. He probably noticed her staring at him, but he was staring right back. Strangely, she didn't mind much.

He gave another giggle. "Not your business, dearie."

Belle nodded. "It was real then? I wasn't dreaming? I'm not now?" It _felt_ real. It was strange and bizarre and rather frightening, but still, somehow, she _wanted_ it to be real. She trusted this man—for he certainly was a man. There was some connection between them.

"You're very much awake," he said softly. "I'm no illusion." He reached out and ran his fingers over Belle's cheek. She found her eyes caught by his. She couldn't make herself look away. They weren't quite human in appearance, but she could see the man behind them. He had plain brown eyes beneath all the golden shimmer.

"Belle!" It was Red's voice, shouting from nearby. The moment broke and Belle stepped back.

"Better run back, dearie," the Dark One said. "Your comrades are looking for you."

"Will I see you again?" The question came blurting from her lips before she could stop it.

"I…" he started, but as soon as his eyes met hers again, he stopped whatever he had been about to say. "Yes," he said simply.

Belle nodded, a little smile coming to her face. She turned to leave, but turned back after a few steps. "Wait, I never caught your name—"

But before she could finish, he vanished once more in a cloud of purple smoke.

* * *

Belle paused in her writing, unsure of what should come next. Of course, it was logical that Red would run up and take Belle back to camp, but then what? Was it even necessary to show that? She tapped her pen against her lower lip as she thought, idly glancing at the clock. 7:59. Was it really that late already?

She shut off the computer and gathered her things, sticking her notebook under her arm and her pen behind her ear. There was no one in the library to kick out, so she simply shut off the lights, taking a moment to stand there in the darkness with the books before heading out. She hadn't read anything in weeks. It was strange. She was usually inseparable from her beloved books. But her life had been consumed by writing, all of her spare time taken with telling instead of listening.

She locked the doors to the library and turned to leave, only to be met by her father. She jumped at the sudden sight of him, but then grinned. "Dad, what are you doing here?"

"A father can't come to see his daughter?" he asked, pulling her into a hug. Belle stepped back as soon as he let her go.

"It's fine. It's nice to see you," she said. "But you never just stop by. What's going on?"

"I actually wanted to talk to you about something," Moe admitted. "Are you doing anything week from Friday?"

"No." Well, she had been planning to write, but even without Ruby around to tell her so she knew that wasn't a good excuse.

"Great. Can you be at the Rabbit Hole at seven?"

Belle frowned. The Rabbit Hole didn't seem like her father's usual sort of place at all. "Alright," she said. It wasn't often that she got to spend time with her father now that she didn't live at home. So if he wanted to go to the Rabbit Hole, there she would go. She could survive one evening there. And anyway, it was likely that Killian would be playing that night.

"Great," Moe said. "I should get home then." He seemed to want to hug her goodbye but stopped himself. "Good night, Lizzy." Then he walked off into the night, leaving Belle rather confused in front of the library.

"Okay then," she said aloud to the night and started off on her way home.

Storybrooke was quiet this time of night—the nightlife was pretty much nonexistent. It was nice. There was no one but her and the leaves and the occasional streetlight. Just peace and quiet.

There was still warm light spilling from the windows of Mr. Gold's pawnshop as she came to it. She didn't understand why he bothered to keep open so late. She had never seen anyone in there anyway. It seemed that the only contact he had with the people of Storybrooke was on rent day. (She certainly hadn't considered getting a proper apartment instead of a basement just so she would have an excuse to talk to him once a month. Of course not.)

As she passed the shop, her head automatically turned toward the window. Just like every other night—

Belle almost tripped over her own feet from shock. There was someone else in there.

It was Cora Mills.

She stood facing Gold, talking softly. He had come out from around the counter to talk to her and they were barely a foot apart. Why she there? Belle had thought the mayor hated Mr. Gold. But there she was.

Without fully realizing it, Belle stopped to watch. They were having a heated discussion. Gold smiled at Cora, but it didn't really reach his eyes. It wasn't forced, but… dark. Belle couldn't see Cora's face properly from where she stood, but she was surprised the mayor wasn't running in terror at that smile. The gentle pawnbroker Belle was accustomed to glimpsing was gone.

While Cora was speaking, Gold's eyes drifted from her to look past her shoulder. They locked with Belle's. Belle gasped and felt her cheeks burn red. Cora must have noticed the change in Gold's expression, for she started to turn. Belle tore herself away from the scene and ran down the street towards her home.

* * *

Once again, Belle took the second watch of the night. Charming had been reluctant to let her keep watch at all, but she had insisted that it was her turn and she could handle it. So he woke her at midnight like she asked, whispering that she should wake him again if she felt too sleepy. Belle had nodded, even though she knew she would do no such thing.

It had been a long day. When Red had brought her back to the camp that afternoon, everyone had been frantic with worry. Snow had been alarmed enough when she suddenly ran off alone, but when she didn't return for nearly an hour, they'd sent Graeme and Red out after her. She'd spent the rest of the evening failing to convince everyone that nothing was wrong and she'd only gone for a little walk and lost track of time. Finally she had peace. Everyone else was asleep, it was just her.

She poked the fire with a stick. If she could get the Dark One out of her head, everything would be lovely. But still the questions surged through her mind. She supposed it was the librarian in her. She just needed to know. He'd vanished in front of her twice now—how did that work? Had he always been the Dark One? How did one become a Dark One anyway? Was the title of Sorcerer part of all that or was it separate? He had barely listened to her questions earlier.

The feeling that she wasn't alone came over her. The back of her neck prickled and she stilled, slowing her breathing and trying to listen. All was silent.

"Hello, dearie."

Belle jumped to her feet and turned to see the Dark One behind her. He was standing ramrod straight, as always, but this time with the air that he'd been there a while. Just waiting for her to see him. Their eyes met, and Belle felt her fingers involuntarily spasm around the handle of the dirk she kept at her side. She grabbed it on instinct and pointed it straight at his glittering chest. It was surprisingly steady in her hands. "I _told_ you not to sneak up on people."

The Dark One giggled. "I wouldn't have scared you if you'd been doing your job," he said. He spoke with his hands, waving them around in an elaborate manner. As if his words would have seemed empty if merely spoken.

Another shiver crept down her spine when he winked at her. She raised the dirk a bit to point it at his face. "You really are following us." There was no longer a question of that. "Why?"

One hand dropped to his side, the other pointed over his shoulder. "Want me to leave, dearie?"

"No!" The word burst from her, louder and more desperate than she expected. The dirk slipped from her fingers and hit the ground. She took a breath. "You can stay." _Please_.

He paused, head tilted. "Very well, dearie," he said, stooping and rising again in a fluid motion. Belle thought he was bowing until he presented her with the dirk, hilt first. "I'll stay."

She hooked the dirk to her belt and he sat on a rock near the fire, hands loosely clasped, one ankle resting up on his knee. The self-satisfied smirk he gave her made Belle wonder if he had heard her mental "please". He couldn't read minds, could he? She bit her lip in attempt to keep herself from blurting anything else out. It wouldn't do to get herself cursed for saying the wrong thing. Still, there was so much to ask. Who knew how long he had lived? He probably knew the answers to thousands of age-old mysteries.

"I can hear your questions from here, dearie," he drawled after several minutes.

"You can read my mind?"

"No." He laughed then pointed a finger over the fire at her. "But I hardly think you'd bite your tongue without reason."

Belle gasped to realize that she had indeed been physically biting down on her tongue to restrain her speech. "Oh." Her hands were fidgeting by her sides, impossible to keep still under his gaze. Jerkily, she resumed her seat on the stump across from him. "Well, yes, I have questions. What—"

"Ah." He held up a finger. "I never said you could ask."

"Well then what was the point of mentioning them?" Belle said crossly, forgetting for a moment that she was speaking to the Dark One and not an old friend.

He laughed again. It was strange that Belle didn't find it frightening anymore. "I'll make you a deal. I'll ask you three questions and you'll answer honestly. If you answer to my satisfaction, I'll return the favor."

"I doubt there's anything you don't already know the answer to," Belle said. "I'm the mere mortal here."

"I'm the Dark One, dearie, not God."

She grinned. "Alright then. Three questions."

"The deal is struck." In a flash he was up and pacing around the fire. Belle wasn't sure if he was actually thinking or making a show of it for her sake. "Who are you?" he asked finally.

Belle was taken aback. She didn't know what she expected him to ask, but it certainly wasn't that. "You know that already."

"Belle of Avonlea, the King's librarian—they are titles," he said, waving them off. "They don't tell me who you are."

She stared into the fire, letting him pace around her. "My name is Belle," she said, feeling ridiculous. Surely the Dark One would already know anything he wanted about her. But what else was there to say? She wasn't anyone special. What was he looking for? He was standing still now, staring intently at her, as if he was waiting, hoping for something. A small nod of his head urged her on. "I'm one of the Prince's elite company. I'm an orphaned and landless princess. I'm an oddity who reads too many books. I used to have a fiancé, but not anymore…" She trailed off. It was basic, obvious. And he still looked as if he was waiting for something. "Well what do you want me to say?" she exclaimed.

"I think that was enough," he said as if nothing was wrong. But he was hiding something there. She'd caught a glimpse of it.

"Next question."

"Patience, dearie." He waved a finger at her in a scolding manner that only served to make her smile. After thinking and pacing for a moment more, he said, "Tell me about your comrades."

"That's not a proper question. I won't have you try to cheat."

"Very well then." He looked almost impressed. "Who are your comrades?"

Again, Belle was caught off guard. Why did he want to know these things? "Well, there's Hook over there." She pointed to where the former pirate was sprawled on his blankets, snoring softly. "He's my friend—he's everyone's friend really. He's a flirt but he usually doesn't mean anything by it." _You don__'t have to worry about him_, her mind finished. Wait. Where did that come from? She forced her mind away from strange thoughts and continued. "Next to him is Graeme, the Huntsman. He… He's… He _was_—" her voice froze in her throat when she really looked at him again. His head rested on his arm, fingers gently curled on top of the covers that they should have been sharing… She took a deep breath to regain her composure. "He and I were childhood sweethearts. But that's all over now." Her voice was too sad, too wistful. Why wasn't she over this yet? It would be easier if she was. She pointed to the next shelter. "Then there's Prince Charming. Well, his real name is James, but we all call him Charming. It's Snow's fault, really… She's next to him, Snow White." Very much next to him. Only because Hook wasn't on watch, that was for sure. "They're happily married. And then there's Red and Regina."

Belle looked around once more, nodding. There was more, of course. She couldn't really sum up her comrades and do them all justice in one night. Anyways, she'd answered his question. She looked up to see he was grinning at her again.

"Surely there's more to them than just a name, dearie."

She almost sighed. "It's a long story," she muttered. Not one she wanted to deal with.

"It's a long night."

She gave him a mock-glare. He made no sign of caring, only settled back down on his rock with an unimpressed flick of his fingers. So she sighed and began. "As you know, I'm the princess of Avonlea. When I was thirteen, our lands were taken by the ogres. There was no warning or chance to stop it. I managed to escape, but my father was killed in battle. My governess took me to Anorien, the realm of King Leopold. When I arrived, I met Princess Snow White and her friend, Rose Red—she hates being called that though. It can only ever be Red. She was a peasant girl that Snow had befriended.

"Both of them welcomed me, but not the third girl there: Regina. She was adopted by King Leopold when she was orphaned at ten. Her mother left when she was a baby and her father… there was a tragic accident. She was practicing magic and it got out of hand…" She trailed off. Regina was still haunted by her father's death. Sometimes Belle wondered what their lives would have been like if it hadn't happened. Would Regina still be so hateful?

"Belle?"

She started, realizing the Dark One was still listening. He'd said her name. It sounded strange coming from his lips. As if for a second he'd forgotten to speak with that high-pitched, giddy voice. She cleared her throat and closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry. Where was I?" she forced out a short laugh.

His teasing manner was back in an instant. "Magic getting out of hand, I believe…"

Belle nodded and launched back into her story. "The year before I came to Anorien, Regina actually tried to kill Snow. She was fourteen and Snow was twelve. Regina said later it was because she was jealous of Snow's looks, her position, her friendship with Red. Apparently that was cause enough to kill her. Anyway, it failed and Snow gained another friend because of it: Graeme. He was a few years older than us and became like a brother to her. So Red, Snow, and I became best friends and Regina hated us. It only grew worse when Graeme and I fell in love—she always was trying to flirt with him."

"And yet you're comrades."

"Barely. Without Hook and Charming we'd all have killed each other by now. We have a flimsy truce for the sake of the kingdom," she said.

"It didn't look so flimsy to me."

"I suppose… It's hard to explain. There's hurt and hate there, but I'd still trust Regina in a fight or to keep watch. We don't have much of a choice in this war. We have to work together. Without the war, I hate to think what would have happened. That's one reason I don't want to go back after this mission. We won't have a reason to be friends anymore."

_And once the war is over, there won__'t be anything to stop Regina from killing us all_, she thought. "Why me?" she demanded. "Why us?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, dearie."

"You're the Dark One. Surely you have better things to do than follow me around." She was surprised by the smile in her voice. Was it coy? Certainly not. Flirting with the Dark One was the worst idea she could think of.

He laughed. "Whoever said I was following you, dearie?"

"This is the third time you've appeared to me. I think that counts as following," she said, grinning. "Why?"

He shrugged. An admission. "It's not every day a little chit of a girl can see invisible things."

"Or men," she corrected.

"I'm not a man, dearie." He sounded sad all of a sudden. The pain in his voice had years behind it.

"If you're not a man, then what are you?"

"I'm the Dark One. Surely you've heard the stories. I'm a monster."

"And they also say you eat young children in the night," she pointed out.

"Perhaps I do." He tried to laugh again, but it didn't sound right. It lacked any sort of real emotion. There was just that wistful pain.

"You don't. Just because you don't look like a man, that doesn't mean you aren't one," she said.

He shook his head. "Believe what you like, dearie."

"You don't seem very monstrous to me."

He shook his head, giving a small almost-laugh. A man's laugh.

"How did you become the Dark One?" she asked.

"Oh… I'm not going to answer that one, dearie. Some things shouldn't be said aloud."

"That question doesn't count then," she said sternly.

"Of course not." He sounded offended, but looked amused at her instruction.

"Right…" She thought. There were so many things she had wanted to ask, but now that she had a limit, they all seemed to have fled from her mind. "Why do you look like…"

"This?" he supplied, his expressive hands gesturing to all of himself.

"Yes," she said, wondering if it was too personal a question. He gave a wry sort of laugh that made her grin again. (How many ways were there to laugh? How long had he lived to master them all?)

"All magic comes with a price." The spring was back in his voice—it seemed like something he had said a thousand times. So much that his lips had memorized the exact feel and inflection of the words.

"That's all you're going to tell me?"

"Yes. And I suppose you don't want that question to count either."

"You're not playing fair." She almost gave a mock-pout before stopping herself. How crazy was she? _Pouting_ at the Dark One. Where was all this coming from? Why couldn't she seem to act rationally around him?

"Perhaps you're not asking good questions. One more, dearie."

She took a deep breath and thought. "How did you manage to sneak up on me?"

"Magic." The word seemed different coming from him than from Regina. With Regina there was always a hint of bitterness there. The Dark One seemed to see it as something exciting. As if it was all a grand adventure.

"And you can just vanish and reappear anywhere?"

"That's right, dearie." He grinned, and purple smoke started to seep from the ground and engulf him. Belle still heard his last few words through it: "Absolutely anywhere."

When the smoke faded, he was gone. It seemed things always ended that way with him.

* * *

Belle hummed along with the music floating from her laptop as she ran her fingers through her damp hair. She had woken on time for once, feeling refreshed. The specific recollections of her pleasant dream faded as she woke, but the sense of peace from it remained. She hummed with Christine Daaé, imagining she was in a dressing-room of the Paris Opera, not a cinderblock basement in Maine. Maybe she could even do with a little makeup today. It was a good day. Why not? She dug around in her drawer for mascara, still singing. There it was.

Just as she reached Christine's next part, the music stopped mid-note. Frowning, the daydream broken, Belle set the black tube down on the dresser. The lights were still on, so it couldn't be a tripped breaker…

She turned to go investigate, but stopped when a sudden movement in the mirror caught her eye. She stared for a moment, her lips parting in surprise. Yet still, when she turned, there it was, billowing up in the corner of her bedroom:

A column of purple smoke.


	9. A Figment of the Imagination

**Notice:** Please keep in mind that the idea of plot of this story was created 4 years ago-before OUAT was first aired. I'm writing it as an ouat fanfic for worldbuilding purposes, among other reasons. There's a reason I said assume nothing. (It was originally a more obscure fanfic for a different fandom.) Needless to say, I greatly enjoy hearing all your comments and theories! Please continue to send them!

Thank you to all my readers and reviews and elli.O. I would like to add the I do not own three lines of this chapter, they are from _Star Wars: Attack of the Clones_, but fit the scene perfectly.

* * *

Previously, in Chapter 8:

_[Belle] turned to go investigate, but stopped when a sudden movement in the mirror caught her eye. She stared for a moment, her lips parting in surprise. Yet still, when she turned, there it was, billowing up in the corner of her bedroom:_

_A column of purple smoke._

* * *

_Angel of Music, guide and guardian,_

_Grant to me your glory!_

_Angel of Music, hide no longer,_

_Come to me, strange Angel!_

~"Angel of Music" _Phantom of the Opera_

* * *

It couldn't be. She must be dreaming. But there he was in her room. Glittering skin, leather clothes, infuriating smirk, all just as clear as she'd seen them in her mind's eye. He was grinning at her, waiting for her to say something. But what did one say when one's character who was based on one's crush suddenly appeared in one's room?

To cover her surprise and confusion, she turned back to the mirror and picked up the mascara again. Maybe if she ignored him he would go away. Not that it wouldn't be fascinating to talk with him, but she was crazy enough as it was without talking to her characters. Anyway, she knew enough about the Dark One to know that if he had something to say, he would say it without her prompting.

It was interesting: of all her characters, he was the one to appear. She wasn't entirely sure what he was doing in her story anyway. He only had a few scenes left before everything got back on track for the Snow White fairy tale. He was a tool for backstory, she'd decided. Just there so Belle could sum up past events before the plot really got in swing. Maybe she'd give him a heroic death to get him out of the way.

Or maybe that's why he was here: to plead his case so she wouldn't kill him off.

If that was it, too bad. He was her character, this was her story. She wasn't going to give up on a plot she'd waited years for just because a minor character who wasn't even supposed to be there didn't want to be offed.

Belle lifted the mascara to her eye, only to have it replaced with a small puff of the purple smoke and the sound of a high-pitched giggle. She turned around to glare at the Dark One, hands on her hips. He was now seated on her bed and looking very pleased with himself. There was no sign of the mascara.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"Ah, ah." He laughed. "You had much more respect last night, _dearie_."

"Last night?" This was the first time she'd seen him outside of her mind. Or maybe this was all in her head and she was just going crazy.

"Beside the fire. You told me your story," he said as if he were explaining it to a small child. "Don't try to tell me she's not you. She is."'

"We share a name, that's all," Belle said shortly. She was beginning to regret naming her character Belle, but it was the name of the girl from _Beauty and the Beast_. Even then, nothing else would fit the character. She'd tried to change it—at first she hadn't even noticed it was the same name until Ruby pointed it out—but every other name seemed wrong in place of "Belle".

"Much more than that, dearie." He sprung up and came to stand behind her. She forced her eyes away from him. He was her _character_. There was no use ogling him, no matter how good he looked in leather.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated, hoping to get a straight answer out of him. He simply grinned. He must know how infuriating he was being. "Well, whatever it is, I don't have time to deal with it. You'll make me late for work."

"You decide when you're late, dearie."

She paused. "How do you know that?" she asked carefully. Maybe he really was inside her head.

"Weren't you just thinking I'm inside your head?"

Fine. No straight answers then. "Whatever." She left him to follow her or not and headed to her kitchen. She still liked to open the library at a decent hour every day, so she did need to leave. As usual, there wasn't too much in her cupboards—why go shopping when there was writing to be done? Usually she ate at Granny's, but the prices weren't affordable for every day. She found some bread and stuck it in the toaster. It would have to do for now.

The Dark One had indeed followed her and now leaned against the wall, watching her closely. His gaze was steady and deep, never wavering from her body. She tried to avoid his eyes, knowing that if she faced him she'd turn bright scarlet. "Please don't look at me like that."

"Why not?" He grinned, roving his eyes slowly over her.

Belle took a deep breath to restrain herself from hitting him. "It makes me feel uncomfortable."

His grin widened as he continued to watch her, just to be contrary. Belle fidgeted, straightening her skirt and looking over at the clock. Anywhere but at him.

The toast popped up at that moment, and Belle hurried to get it. His stare had broken at the sudden noise. "Do you want some?"

"What?" he seemed totally surprised by her address.

She put the toast on a plate and held it out to him. "It's called food. You eat it. Do you want some?"

"Very well," he said irritably, not amused by her sarcasm. Served him right. It was so odd to see him like this. Here he was, the Dark One, all dressed in leather and silk, eating toast with butter in her kitchen.

She smeared her own toast with peanut butter and honey, then went to sit at her desk. The Dark One again followed, settling easily on her couch without so much of a glance to ask permission. "If you're here to plead for your life, it won't work," Belle told him.

The effect of his signature cackle was somewhat lessened by the piece of toast in his hand. "You can't kill me, dearie. You don't know how."

"I'll figure it out."

He smirked and gave her a pointed look that clearly said _I__'d like to see you try_. Why had she written him to be so confusing? "But that's not why I'm here."

"Then why are you here?" There was no other reason she could think of. Unless he thought it would be fun to annoy her. It seemed out of character for him though. He was the Dark One. He didn't do anything without reason. She waited for him to answer, but he simply ate more of his toast. "Look, I don't have time to play twenty questions with you. What are you doing here?"

He looked up momentarily to smirk at her before going back to his studious consumption of toast.

"I can't have figments of my imagination following me to work," she grumbled.

"If I'm merely a 'figment of your imagination', who would know?"

He had a point, but she glared at him anyway. Logic was not her friend when fictional characters were showing up in her apartment and eating her food.

On the end table, her laptop flickered to life, the music coming back on. Belle had forgotten it had shorted out. Apparently it had decided it was done sleeping and going to be useful. Great. Now she was personifying her computer.

"_In sleep he sang to me_," Belle sang softly with the recording. "_In dreams he came_—" She broke off. The Dark One was merely staring at her again. "You know what I just realized?" she said.

"What is that, dearie?"

"You need a name." She'd been trying to think of one for him. After all, she couldn't easily go around calling him "Dark One" forever. He had been a man once. What had he been called? Everything she tried just didn't suit him.

"What makes you think I don't already have one?"

"Then what is it?"

"Ah ah ah." He pointed at her—just like he'd done to Belle in her story. It was disconcerting to see him do it again now. It made it too… real. He was really here. Her character. In her living room. Talking with her. How many writers dreamed of this?

"What's your price?" she asked. There always was one with him. Dealmaker. He wasn't called that on whim.

"My presence."

Belle was surprised. He wanted to follow her around? "Not all the time."

"Whenever I appear."

"Alright," she said. "But not in my bedroom." He looked confused. She felt her cheeks warm. "I want one private place. That room." _Unless I invite you_… And now even her own mind was against her.

"Deal." He set his now empty plate down on the side table and stood. He smiled wickedly and gave an elegant bow. "Rumpelstiltskin."

* * *

Belle's latest encounter with the Dark One weighed heavily on her mind. She hadn't told anyone about it, of course. The secret felt like a stone in her chest, one she was certain that anyone could see if they looked at her properly. Snow had been giving her worried looks for days, and now was turning her head to peer back every quarter hour or so.

Belle could feel the dark circles under her eyes from restless sleep. For once, she wished Snow wouldn't be so mothering to everyone. She didn't want everyone concerned about her. She was fine. She just had one of the most powerful men in all the realms following her and being generally enigmatic and she really, really didn't want to analyze what she might be feeling towards him.

Soon after noon, Red came to a sudden stop. Everyone kept walking for a minute before they noticed. Her face was pale and her eyes were filling with tears. Abandoning her own troubles, Belle ran to her, and put her arm around her friend's shoulders.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly. Snow came to Red's other side. It took both her and Belle to keep Red from falling over when her knees gave out a moment later. They let her sink to the ground gently, sitting on either side. The tears began to fall down Red's face. Still, she looked off into the distance, not really seeing any of them.

"I just realized…" she murmured.

"Realized what?" Snow asked.

"Peter." Her voice broke on the name and she was suddenly sobbing, her whole body heaving in the effort. She folded over, hiding her face in the ground. Belle continued to hold her and stroked her hair.

"It's the fourth day…" Red gasped. "Three days… hung at dawn… I didn't realize…"

Belle felt tears start down her own face. The rest of the company looked just as distraught. None of them had remembered yesterday morning. They had been too busy getting on with the march. None of them had even thought…

Belle had always liked Peter. He was a good, kind man, if a little radical in his beliefs. He was a good soldier and would have made a fine husband for Red, no matter what her grandmother thought. He didn't deserve to die for King George's political schemes. Red's sobs echoed through the forest as Belle and Snow held her.

"Maybe we should stop here for the day," Regina said quietly. Charming nodded. Graeme gave Red one last look, as if he was wondering whether or not to stay, but then headed off into the forest. Snow handed Hook Red's pack to put with the others and then her arms went back around Red.

Red was shaking under Belle from the force of her sobs. Snow's arms were around both of them, Belle's and Snow's tears making little dark spots on Red's cloak. Peter was dead. And somehow this whole mess hadn't yet felt as real as it did in that moment.

* * *

In a rare show of interest, there were actually people waiting outside the library when Belle arrived. She let them in hurriedly, her fingers fumbling with the keys. The Dark One—no, _Rumpelstiltskin_—stood behind her, invisible to everyone but her. He remained at her side the rest of the day observing everything she did—surprisingly without comment. She wasn't sure why the whole of Storybrooke suddenly wanted to read, but by the end of the day her feet were aching and she was sure her hair must have doubled in volume since morning.

After she shut the front doors behind the last person, she leaned against them, sighing in relief. A whole class of eighth graders had needed the same book. Someone had ripped pages out of another encyclopedia. Every computer in the places had spazzed out. And why didn't anyone understand the concept of quiet in the library?

She gathered a stack of books from the circulation desk. She'd shelve them and then go home. Make a cup of tea and watch reruns of _Doctor Who_. Something like that. She slipped each book lovingly back into its spot on the shelves, replacing those that had been mis-shelved throughout the day. She flipped off each light as she went until she returned to the main desk. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she shut off the computer and last of the lights.

Only to run into someone as soon as she turned around. With a yelp, she jumped back, fumbling for the lights.

It was Rumpelstiltskin. She'd forgotten he was there. She glared at him and turned the lights back off, pushing him out of the way. "Are you just going to follow me everywhere?" she snapped.

"Yes."

She yanked the door open and shut it again in his face, not particularly caring if he was offended. He was her character, he could deal with it. She locked the library up and set off down the street, rolling her eyes at the purple smoke behind her. The tap of the Dark One's boots on the pavement was not quite in time with her own steps.

* * *

It seemed forever before Red's sobs calmed to quiet tears as she clung to her friends. Snow nodded to Belle, who took the chance to leave. Red would be fine with Snow for a few minutes. Belle took both her pack and Snow's to one of the shelters. Hot tears pricked at her eyes and she rubbed them away. She wouldn't cry. Not now, when Red was so distraught. She needed her friends to be strong.

She nearly didn't notice Regina standing beside her until she bumped into her.

"Is she going to be alright?" Regina asked quietly.

"Her love was just executed," Belle said. "I think it's going to be a while."

Regina just nodded and stepped back. "I'm sorry."

"Tell her that," Belle said. Another tear leaked from her eye and she brushed it away. "It would do her more good than me."

Regina looked nervous at the thought, but she nodded again. Her hand came up as if to touch Belle's shoulder in comfort, but then the sorceress thought better of it and the hand dropped loosely to her side.

* * *

Fortunately, Rumpelstiltskin seemed to quickly grow bored with following Belle. For the time being, at least. She still caught glimpses of him, but he didn't try to talk to her again. He would be walking on the other side of the street or leaning against a bookcase several rows away. He had a permanent smirk on his face and would wink at her every time their eyes met as if to say _Look at me, I__'m here but no one else knows_.

Belle was glad for the privacy to go about her life and concentrate on things besides him. Mostly. She missed him. That one day he had spent with her in the library had been better from his presence. He's always been there at her side, silently comforting. Perhaps making a face at a particularly stupid patron. It was nice. Her little secret. One of her characters following her around.

He was her favorite to write. Maybe it was because she couldn't figure him out. It was as if his true self was hidden away beneath leather and scales and melodrama where she could only catch tiny glimpses of it. His existence was purely accidental. She hadn't meant for him to be there at all. But now here he was and he was funny and very helpful when she needed to have Belle explain some backstory.

The quiet chatter in the diner was a comfort as Belle hurried in. The weather had taken a true turn for cold in the past few days and she hadn't remembered to change her clothing to match. The sun was bright, but there was a cruel nip in the wind that pierced through everything but the thickest of coats. She rubbed her hands over her arms as she slid into a booth across from Mary Margaret. It had been much too long since they'd been able to spend some proper time together. They each saw Ruby regularly when they came to the diner for food. Even though the elementary school and the library were across the street from each other, their paths only crossed during storytime and that was limited to mutual attempts at crowd control and didn't leave much time for socializing.

"I went ahead and ordered for you," Mary Margaret said. "I don't have long before I have to get back to school."

"Thanks. I'm glad we can do this. It's been too long."

They talked of little, inconsequential things until their food came, and still as they ate. It was nice. Normal. Something Belle desperately needed after… well, after Rumpelstiltskin. There was no sign of him throughout the meal. Belle hoped he wasn't off causing trouble—but how could he? He was in her head. She would certainly control when he appeared and to whom.

The door to the diner opened and Belle's breath caught in her throat. It was Mr. Gold. He made his way to a table in the opposite corner of the diner, but still within Belle's line of sight.

"…so he invited Kathryn for dinner the other night—Belle, are you even listening to me?" Mary Margaret said, a slight grin forming on her face as she noticed where Belle was looking.

"Yes. I'm fine. David's father invited Kathryn to dinner. Got it."

Mary Margaret shook her head. "Ruby and I have been wondering when you'd admit it to yourself," she said.

"What?"

"Your crush who just walked in the door and is sitting over there." She nodded to Gold, who was fortunately not looking their direction. Belle tore her gaze away from him once more. His sunglasses weren't doing her any good. And his coat…

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"Deny it if you wish, but we all know…"

"What happened with Kathryn?" Belle asked quickly. She had no desire to discuss Mr. Gold with Mary Margaret when she'd never even spoken to the man and he was sitting twenty feet away from them looking devastatingly attractive.

Mary Margaret sighed. "It could have been worse. Dinner was fine and she made her excuses quickly enough afterward."

"But Mr. Nolan is still set on her and David," Belle finished. Mary Margaret nodded sadly. "If it makes you feel better, it's not going to happen. You and David will be married in a few months and then he won't be able to do anything about that."

"I suppose." She took a sip of her water, staring off into space. Belle snuck another glance at Gold. "What about you? Is your story still coming along?"

Belle nodded. "Just the usual. I'm amazed I'm still inspired for it."

"To be honest, so am I."

"Hey!" Belle grinned and leaned forward conspiratorially. "I actually had a new character appear: Rumpelstiltskin."

"What's he going to do?"

Belle shrugged. "Right now he's just helping with backstory. You know, so Belle can have someone to talk to. I don't think he'll have a major long-term role or anything. He's just fun to write."

Mary Margaret nodded and glanced at the clock. "I should go if I don't want to be late. I'll see you later."

"It was nice talking to you."

Mary Margaret nodded before running out of the diner. Belle took the last sip of her iced tea. She had the last bit of backstory to write. She paid Ruby up at the counter and left the diner, sneaking one last glance at Gold in his most excellent sunglasses.

* * *

Belle felt bad sneaking off like this. Red was still sitting limply by the fire, her face streaked with tear stains she couldn't be bothered to wipe away. Being there for her friend should have been Belle's priority. But he'd been there in the woods, watching her.

She didn't tell anyone she was going and no one asked. Snow and Regina were busy bickering over how to make some supper. (It was a pointless argument, but they didn't see that. It always was and they never did.) Graeme was off hunting, while Hook and Charming had a mock duel. It was all too easy to slip away into the woods after the Dark One.

He was just out of sight and earshot of the camp and settled into leaning against a tree. His arms crossed over his chest and he regarded her with a smirk.

"Did you want me to follow you for a reason or did you just miss me?" Belle asked. It was going out on a limb, assuming such things, but something about him made her more daring, more willing to risk it.

"Who said I wanted you to follow me?" He giggled and Belle's face broke out into a grin. He probably wasn't going to turn her into a snail for that comment.

"You looked awful friendly with Regina a while back," he said. It sounded like teasing, but Belle could hear the question. _What happened?_

Belle sighed. She—

* * *

Belle sat back in her chair. The scene wasn't working. It should be simple: Belle goes out and meets Rumpel again. They end up talking and she tells him the full story behind Regina and Snow's feud. Simple. But it wasn't coming. No matter how many times she tried to write it, it didn't end up well. Belle sounded out of character. Rumpelstiltskin sounded out of character.

She took a long sip from the cup of tea next to her. For now she'd skip the scene. She'd write it later. Maybe that's all that needed to be done. Maybe she just had to follow her instincts, which were clearly telling her that this scene didn't belong.


	10. A Beautiful Sight

**A day later than I intended (apologies), but so it goes. Thank you to elli.O. for her extra efforts with this chapter and thank you to all my readers and reviewers. You're wonderful. All of you.**

* * *

_But in his eyes, all the sadness of the world._

_Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore._

~"Why Have You Brought Me Here?", _Phantom of the Opera_

* * *

The next week passed too slowly for Belle, yet at the same time too quickly. It should have been a normal sort of week: work, sleep, writing, meeting up with Ruby for coffee and Mary Margaret for lunch, worrying about her upcoming dinner with her father, sneaking glances at Mr. Gold through the Pawn Shop windows.

Her story was progressing nicely. Deleting the scene with Snow's backstory had proved a good decision. Everything had flowed smoothly from there on out. Well, as smoothly as it ever did. She felt a little lost in her own world, unsure of how things were going to play out. Fortunately, that didn't slow her writing. She had tried to stop writing at work though—after all, what if the Mayor were to come in? She certainly wasn't being paid to write a novel.

Every day, she watched the clock anxiously, waiting for closing time so she could hurry home and write. It was peaceful, therapeutic. There was something calming about being lost in another world, all her worries gone. It was just her and her characters. She loved the feeling of words on her tongue that she whispered to herself as her fingers tapped their merry rhythm on the keys.

The company hadn't done a whole lot over the past few days in their story. There was a small incident where they thought there were ogres around but it was just a bear in the forest. Charming and Snow shared a sweet moment when left alone at camp and Graeme and Red were no longer quite as bitter towards each other. Red slowly recovered from Peter's death—which is to say, she wasn't _recovered_, just better at hiding her pain. Regina spent some time internally fuming about Snow and Belle and Red. Belle was sneaking off to see Rumpelstiltskin at every opportunity—usually while she scouted ahead or during her watches. They were more friendly now.

Still, Snow's backstory didn't seem to want to be written. So Belle was writing what she felt like. Her favorite things were Rumpelstiltskin's friendship with Belle and Regina's conversations with her comrades. It was odd. Regina was much friendlier than Belle had intended. She wasn't a pure evil villain. It was annoying, but the character simply would not cooperate. Then again, that was also true of most of Belle's characters right now.

As for her imaginary friend, he was still there. True to his role of least cooperative inside the story, Rumpelstiltskin had taken to appearing on her way to work. He'd hang around throughout the day, happy to comment on everything and exchange banter with her when no one else was there to hear. Thankfully he left her alone in the evenings. He didn't seem to enjoy watching her write very much. It was better that way. He might be helpful to bounce ideas off of, but Belle had the feeling that he would be very distracting if she tried to write with him around.

He surprised her Tuesday night by following her down the street in the evening on her way to the grocery. Storybrooke only had one, and thankfully the prices were fair and there was a decent selection. She had finally grown tired of empty cupboards.

Belle went about her shopping methodically. There was no use in wasting too much time. She wanted to write tonight, so this necessity had to be taken care of as soon as possible.

Rumpelstiltskin wandered along behind her. Belle was surprised to find him noticeably uninterested in anything around him. Actually, now that she thought of it, he'd never seemed very interested in her world. But why not? Surely he had never seen most of what was around them in the Enchanted Forest. Even the Dark One's powers shouldn't give him the ability to cross worlds. The only reason he could now was because of her overactive imagination. "Rumpelstiltskin?" she asked, muttering under her breath so she didn't attract the attention of the other shoppers.

"Yes?"

"I was wondering something," she whispered.

"You'll have to speak louder than that if you want any hope of being heard." He sounded entirely too gleeful about it.

"We're in public. I can't just shout at you. Do you want them to think I'm crazy?"

"Possibly."

Belle turned to glare at him, only to realize that attracted more attention than talking to herself did. "I said that it's strange," she said a bit louder. "You don't seem too bothered by... any of this." She gestured around at the brightly colored products lining the shelves.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, dearie."

"You're... You're in my head..." She sighed and started over. "You're not from this world. Nothing in the Enchanted Forest has anything like this world. Why aren't you terribly confused by everything?"

"Are you trying to control me?" he said. He sounded terribly amused by the idea and more than a tad bit suggestive.

"You're my character. I control you whether you want me to or not," Belle pointed out. His only response was to smirk at her. Now she was certainly wishing she'd thought up a different character to be her imaginary friend. As good as he looked in leather, the Dark One was much too infuriating. "Well, why not?" she demanded.

"I'm not what I seem, dearie. You've assumed too much."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She grabbed a can of olives off the shelf. Olives were good. They wouldn't last long with her, but she hadn't bought any lately.

"You're 'writing' me. Figure it out." He ended with a high laugh.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" she grumbled.

"Belle, who are you talking to?" Mr. Clark asked as he passed her.

"Oh, just myself. It helps me remember where I am on my list." She gave the man her sweetest smile and once he'd walked out of earshot she turned back to Rumpelstiltskin. "See what you did there?"

"Yes."

Belle ignored him for the rest of her shopping, but continued to glance back at him. There was something strange about this. Some piece of the puzzle that she was missing. But what?

She paid for her groceries and put them in the small wagon that she'd left outside for this purpose. Usually she asked Ruby or Mary Margaret to drive her, but they were both busy tonight—Mary Margaret had something to do with her upcoming wedding and Ruby had mentioned a date. Belle just hoped she wasn't considering getting back together with Archie. They'd been there once. No need to repeat mistakes. So Belle was left to load her bags into the little red wagon and roll it down the street.

Rumpelstiltskin made no comment about the wagon, merely taking a few of the bags that wouldn't fit from her. "Are you sure that will work?" she asked.

"Once again, I can't answer vague questions such as that," he said.

"I can't very well have bags of groceries following me down the street in midair," she snapped. "Can people see them?"

He giggled. "I'll make sure they don't."

They set off down the street. Belle didn't know what to make of him. Surely an imaginary friend shouldn't be able to carry things. But then again, one's imaginary friends ought to disappear into memory after childhood. The fact that he could carry her things should be the least of her worries.

A few blocks from the edge of town, Rumpelstiltskin stopped. "This is where I leave you," he said, setting the bags down in the wagon. He gave a small wave and vanished.

"Figures," Belle muttered to herself. Slower this time, so as not to upset the overfilled wagon, she started down the street again.

The lights flicked off in the pawn shop as she passed, but she could have sworn Mr. Gold was looking right at her. The idea brought a small smile to her face and warmth to her that banished the chill of the night.

* * *

Even though she had arranged everything the night before, Belle was still nervous as she woke that morning. Charming had announced that they would stay where they were for a day. The clearing they were camped in was up against a cliff wall, so they couldn't be attacked from that side. Anyway, they needed the extra day of rest. They'd been in enemy territory a week, meticulously moving along the border. There hadn't been any sign of ogres yet, so they were taking the day to replenish supplies.

Regina was the only one awake, but even then she didn't look completely alert yet. Belle joined her at the campfire, gratefully accepting the offered dish of last night's dinner. Each morning was colder than the last and today her breath fogged in the air.

"Getting an early start?" Regina asked, gesturing around to the still dark sky.

Belle shrugged. "Something like that," she said between bites. The stew had reheated up nicely and each mouthful was a small victory against the cold.

"You're not going to win."

Belle looked up from her food in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You're not going to be chosen as leader. The King won't allow it. I'm the one with the power here," Regina hissed. She was dangerous. Belle imagined she could see sparks flying from the tips of her hair. There probably would be if Regina wasn't much too dignified for such a thing.

"King George specified both of us. If he was sure you would be chosen, then I wouldn't even be in the running." The attempt at reason seemed to calm Regina, but not much. She did sit back though, still seething.

"Do you want this?" she asked suddenly.

"Sure," Belle said without thinking, completely destroying any progress she'd been making in calming Regina down. Belle really didn't fancy spending the day as a rabbit or something. It would make her late. "I mean, why not? But I'm not going to take it from you."

Regina remained unconvinced. "Stay away if you know what's good for you." She gathered a pack and stalked off into the woods, leaving Belle very confused. She hadn't thought of the competition between her and Regina since Charming had told them about it. She'd been too upset about Graeme to care. Obviously Regina had been thinking about it. What about Charming? Was he watching the two of them? How could he make such a decision?

It was with a heavy mind that Belle gathered her things and set off into the woods—in the opposite direction of Regina. She wasn't even sure she wanted the position. Sure, missions were fun, but would they still be without her best friends by her side? Why was she really doing this? After all, she could probably be much more useful back in King George's library doing research that was needed for the war. She was the only one truly qualified. Regina would be good at leading. Sort of.

Regina was unstable. She always had been. One minute she was friendly and the next she was ready to torch everyone at the slightest provocation. Her magic gave her considerable power over others—power Charming was only barely able to keep in check. With her in charge, even if Red and Graeme still joined them, everything would be up to her whim. She might be useful to have around, but as a leader? Belle didn't think it would work out. Maybe it would be better if Belle was chosen. She didn't really want to lead, but against the options, what choice did she have? It would be a sacrifice on her part, but perhaps one that was worth it.

The woods were quiet and peaceful that morning. The dew was frozen and there was a slight mist hovering over the forest floor. It was too late in the season for birds and the higher the company moved into the mountains, the colder it got. Glad to have her cloak, Belle pulled it closer around herself. Every blade of grass with stiff with glittering frost. The air was sharp on her face, driving away whatever sleepiness that was left.

She found the clearing she was looking for without too much trouble. It was deserted, so she examined the bushes, trying to see if there was still any edible fruit around.

"Looking for me, dearie?"

Belle spun around. "Rumpelstiltskin!" She ran to him and threw her arms around him. He hugged back stiffly, just like every time she dared touch him. He'd told her his name a few days before and Belle treasured it like a precious gift, knowing that there was no record of the Dark One's true name. The names of the Witch and the Mage were known—Cora and Zoso. But never the Sorcerer. He was the most mysterious of the three. And he'd trusted her with his secret.

After a moment, Belle pulled back shyly. "I missed you."

"After only one night?" he laughed.

Belle nodded. They had a friendship now. She slipped away to see him whenever she could, glad to have someone she could truly talk to. That person used to be Graeme, but there was no way it could remain that way anymore. Rum, as she'd decided to call him, was willing to listen and could occasionally be convinced to share a tale of his own.

He held out his arm for her. "Come with me."

"Where?"

"You'll see when we arrive. Come."

Belle hesitated. "I can't go far. I need to be here in case—"

"In case what?" He took on a grand pose, his hands speaking elegantly with his voice. "Your company meets a fearsome dragon and requires your help to slay the beast?"

Belle laughed. "I have to see if I can find some food," she said, unable to hide her grin.

"I can do that for you. Come." He held out his hand for her this time.

Slowly, Belle slipped her fingers through his. "Alright then. I'll come."

They walked through the woods, their feet making small sounds as the frost-covered grass gave way beneath them. Rum's hand was warm in hers. Warmer than she expected, and smooth despite its rough appearance. She'd never touched his skin before and she found she enjoyed the way their hands fit together as they walked. He was careful to keep a half step ahead of her, so it would seem as if he was leading, but Belle wasn't fooled. He wanted to hold her hand.

Their path was long and the sun had begun to rise by the time Rum came to a stop. Belle looked around. The forest around them looked much the same as what they had walked through all morning. What was it he wanted to show her? The rational part of her said she ought to be afraid of him. After all she was alone in the woods with the most powerful sorcerer, well out of earshot of anyone around.

But she wasn't afraid. Somehow, she knew he wouldn't hurt her.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly. He met her eyes, his gaze so intense that Belle felt a blush rise to her cheeks despite the cold air.

"I am," she said.

He turned again, leading her, but more slowly this time. Belle heard it before she saw it. The musical rush of flowing water. Just through a grove of aspen was a beautiful waterfall, hidden away from the rest of the world. It was only a few feet wide and splashed merrily from rock to rock down the cliff face until it formed a little pool at the bottom. The pool gave way into a tiny stream headed down towards the river. Moss grew on the rocks in a bluish-green color. There were small, glittering creatures flying around it, ducking in and out between the trickles of water. The dawn caught in the water, making red-pink reflections on the rocks lining the stream.

"What are they?" Belle asked. She'd never seen such things before.

"Water sprites," Rum whispered in her ear, his breath warm and soft. "They're only found in remote parts of these mountains."

"They're beautiful."

"And dangerous. Do you want to see them closer?" He held out a hand for her.

She smiled. "Alright then."

Up at the bank of the stream, Belle paused. It would be frigid this time of year. Actually, at this altitude, it would be frigid any time of the year. But Rum walked straight into it. As she had seen before, the water parted around his feet, leaving him dry. He hesitated for a moment before reaching for her. Hands on her waist, he lifted her gently over the stream. She gasped in surprise and grasped his arms. He set her down gently, ever so gently, before joining her on the opposite bank.

He didn't look at her as she took his hand again in hers, her skin tingling where he'd held her, even through the layers of clothing. She smiled to herself. He was worried that he'd stepped too far. She gave his hand a small squeeze to let him know it was all right. His head jerked up in surprise. He searched her face for any hint of disgust at his touch, smiling faintly to find none.

The sprites' nest was under the curtain of water. Rum led her over to it. "The morning is their time of day," he whispered. "You can get closer to the nest while they're in the water."

Belle nodded. The little creatures were beautiful. Delicate limbs and gossamer wings gave them a vaguely fairy-like shape, though their faces more resembled a cat. They were pale, pale blue, like the water, and their skin seemed to resemble that of a frog. They moved with natural grace. Every move seemed to be part of a dance.

* * *

"I get that you're writing, but you write all the time," Mary Margaret said. She and Belle sat side by side in their usual booth at Granny's, waiting for Ruby's break. "Why? Is it really necessary? Can't you spend a little more time with us?"

Belle shrugged. "I don't know. I just really love it, I guess."

"I guess," Mary Margaret agreed.

Before Belle could speak again, Ruby slid in across from them. She'd asked them both to meet her here because she had news to share, even though it was a Thursday afternoon. "So, you'll never guess what I saw," she said, a wide grin on her painted face.

"What?" Mary Margaret asked eagerly.

"You're supposed to guess!"

"You just said we never would," Belle pointed out. "Come on, some of us have jobs to get back to before the Mayor decides to stop by."

"How often does Mayor Mills stop by?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Often enough. But that's beside the point. What happened, Ruby?"

Ruby settled into her seat and waiting a moment for effect. "This morning, Mr. Gold was—"

"What about Mr. Gold?" Killian Jones interrupted, coming up to their table.

"It's none of your business," Ruby snapped, annoyed to be cut off. "Go away."

"I thought we were friends, Lucas. Your secrets are my secrets. Continue. Tell us what Gold was doing." He sat on the edge on the table, looking expectantly at Ruby.

"I said go away. I'm not telling you," Ruby repeated. Killian snapped back and their petty argument soon degenerated into variants of "yes-no-yes-no-yes-no". Belle sighed and rested her head on the table. So much for Ruby's story. And it was useless to deny that she was very interested in what Mr. Gold had been doing.

After another minute of bickering, she nudged Mary Margaret. Lifting her head high enough to nod at Ruby and Killian, she said, "And _this_ is why I write all the time."

* * *

Belle didn't know how long she and Rum spent by the waterfall. They sat on the banks of the pool and watched the water sprites. They talked a little of inconsequential things, but were happy to sit together in silence of the cool of the morning as the light grew with the rising sun. After a while, they began to walk again. Belle didn't know where they were, but she trusted that Rum did. And if all else failed, he had magic, didn't he?

"I should go back," she said softly, kicking at a loose stone on the forest floor. Rum nodded, grasping her hand a bit tighter for a moment. The whole morning, she'd noticed him watching her. Despite their odd appearance, they were the most expressive eyes she'd ever seen. They shifted quickly between playful and mocking and intense. If one knew how to look properly, they were pictures into the soul he kept locked away. And whenever he thought she wasn't paying attention, they grew sad, sadder than anything she'd ever seen. It was almost as if he was mourning something that could never be returned to him.

"We're close," he said. A few minutes later, she could hear the sounds of her company at their camp through the trees. Rum stopped suddenly.

"What's wrong?"

He took her sack and waved his hand. Purple smoke appeared in it, only to be replaced with berries a moment later. "As promised, dearie."

"What about the price?" Belle asked. He looked confused, so she clarified: "The price of the magic."

He grinned. "I'll pay it, dearie." He bowed low.

Belle grinned and curtsied the best she could in pants. "Thank you."

They looked at each other a moment. Belle's breath caught in her throat as she was overcome with a sudden urge to kiss him. Startled by the thought, she turned quickly and hurried away back to the camp.

* * *

The red dress flared out around Belle's knees as she twirled in front of her bedroom mirror. It had little white polka dots and was casual while still looking nice. Mary Margaret would approve, but probably not dare to wear it. Ruby would hack several inches off the hem and neckline. It would do.

She gathered her coat off the bed and checked her makeup once more in the mirror before leaving the room. The blue of the coat didn't really go with the dress, but it was warm. And it was just her father she was meeting. _Not someone like Mr. Gold_, her treacherous mind added. She wasn't sure exactly why she was so embarrassed to think such things. Ruby and her romance-psychic powers weren't even around.

"Well, well, well, don't we look beautiful tonight," Rumpelstiltskin said from his seat at her desk as she closed the bedroom door behind her. Belle couldn't help but grin at the compliment.

"Thank you," she said. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "If you want to talk you need to walk with me. I'm going to be late."

His expression became instantly guarded. "Meeting a handsome young man, dearie?"

"If my father counts," she said, enjoying the surprised expression on his face. "What did you want to say, Rum?" she said, only noticing the familiar nickname after it left her lips.

"I only wished to express my annoyance at the overly romantic scene I was given today," he said.

Belle laughed. "Finally admitting that I control you?" she teased. It came up often. He would try to say that he was independent of her. She would disagree. He couldn't be right. She made him up. He might be based on a certain pawn broker but he was still her Rumpelstiltskin.

He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Not exactly. And not in the way you think, dearie."

Belle rolled her eyes and let them fall into silence. If he wanted to be cryptic, she'd let him. Anyway, it was safer for them not to talk openly in town. Who knew who might be watching? The Rabbit Hole was on the close side of town to Belle's home—and unfortunately, the Pawn Shop wasn't on the route. Rumpelstiltskin stopped about a block away, his hand brushing her arm lightly as she continued on. The light touch gave her courage. It was an evening with her father. It couldn't be that bad, could it?


	11. A Sweet and Sour Evening

**Much thanks to all my readers as well as elli.O. You're all amazing.**

**Notice: Both Elli and I are participating in NaNoWriMo this November, so updates will be much slower. My goal is to still get them up, but that's an optimistic goal. We'll do our best to have at least two chapters throughout the month. Many apologies for the delays.**

* * *

Red knew from the light when she opened her eyes that she was probably the last one left at camp. The sun had completely risen and shone bright in her eyes. She wanted to roll over and burrow her cold face back in her blanket, but duty won out over laziness and she pulled herself up.

The only other person in sight was Graeme. He sat next to the fire, leaning over his knife, slowly cleaning it. Red had witnessed this ritual hundreds of times before, but had never really watched. His brow was furrowed in steady concentration, his body relaxed, his hands gentle. It was rare that he truly showed respect to men—especially to the nobles of the court—but this act of care for a simple tool was given his wholehearted devotion. His eyes, rather than their usual guarded suspicion, were warm, intent. He was at peace in his meticulous intensity.

Maybe, the thought occurred to her, he might one day hold that same look in his eyes when he looked at her.

She joined him at the fire, keeping her blanket around her shoulders. He looked up and gave her a small smile. "Good morning."

"Morning," she said sleepily. "Is everyone else gone?"

He nodded. "For several hours." He hesitated a moment before adding, "I didn't want you to wake up alone."

Red was surprised he'd be so thoughtful. From early in their days together, there had been a simple rule: last person to wake would guard the camp while everyone else went about finding food and what supplies they could. Graeme didn't have to stay with her. He could have left already to start his day's work. But he stayed. Just to make sure she didn't wake up alone.

"You're going now?" she asked.

"I probably should." He slid his knife back into its sheath. "I'm sorry you're stuck here."

"It's my own fault," she said shortly, gathering things for her breakfast. If she'd really wanted to go out, she could have woken earlier. Usually she hated being trapped at camp. Today she didn't mind the thought. Maybe some time alone would help her. Or maybe she'd spend the whole day crying over Peter again.

They sat quietly, tension between them. She couldn't get used to the fact that she was going to marry him. Every time they came anywhere close to each other it was all she could think about. She wished she were like Belle. Sweet, kind Belle, who would instantly try to make the best of any situation. Belle, who Graeme was already head over heels in love with. Belle, who could get along with anyone. Belle, who was doomed to be alone now that her true love was marrying her best friend.

Graeme sighed. "We can't be like this forever."

She thought about asking what he meant, but that ruse wouldn't deflect the conversation he was obviously interested in having now. "Why not?"

"Because we have to live together," he said bluntly. "It can be as easy or hard as we make it."

"Try telling Belle that." Red regretted it as soon as the words left her mouth. A look of raw pain crossed Graeme's face. He was still hurting, of course. Belle was still distraught. She avoided camp as much as possible. And Graeme was always left staring after her when he thought no one else noticed. It was cruel to mock that pain. "I'm sorry."

Graeme nodded stiffly, tension still in his shoulders. "Can we have a serious conversation, Red?"

"Yes."

He took a deep breath. "I… We've never been best of friends. Comrades and fellow hunters at best, acquaintances at worst. But we have to spend the rest of our lives together, so can't we make the best of it? I'm willing to try."

The idea of being happy was a strong one. She wanted so badly to believe that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't spend the rest of her days in unhappiness. Graeme wasn't that bad as far as men went. Perhaps this was possible. "As am I."

"Start over then?"

"Yes. We can start over." Maybe with another start things wouldn't be so awkward. "You're really not that upset to be marrying me?" she asked.

"Upset isn't the right word." He said. Great. So it was worse? He noticed her expression and hurriedly explained. "Look, we're both in love with someone else. But neither of those relationships are going to work out, so can't we at least be there for each other? If you don't want romance, I don't need to give it. But I want us to be friends."

Her lips twitched up into a half smile. "I'd like that."

"I'm still leaving you here."

Red rolled her eyes. "Such a gentleman."

His face instantly grew concerned. "Do you want to trade? I can stay—"

"Go. Really. I'll be fine here. I can see you're desperate to be out of this clearing." And really too much of a gentleman, despite her comments otherwise. Graeme nodded and stood to gather his things. Red watched him out of the corner of her eye, for the first time taking in exactly how tall and thin he was and how his clothes outlined his body. He certainly wasn't bad looking.

"Graeme?" she said as he started to leave.

"Yes?" He turned back around to look her in the eye.

"Thanks for watching over me."

He grinned. "Anytime."

* * *

The interior of the Rabbit Hole was just as Belle expected. The place was full of people, some whom she knew and some she didn't. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat. It wasn't a dirty, down-in-the-dumps sort of place, but some things were unavoidable with this number of people crammed about and drunk. Music blasted loud enough for her to feel the bass line in her chest. Feeling self-conscious in her blue coat and modest dress, she approached the bar.

"What can I get you?" the man asked.

"I'm Belle French," she said. "I have a reservation." Her father had called yesterday to tell her what to say. It had been an oddly brief conversation—as if he'd called between customers at the flower shop. The whole situation was odd. This wasn't the sort of place one would expect to find a small-town florist and his daughter.

"Yes, yes," the man said, smiling. "Come right this way, Miss."

He led her around towards the back of the room. Every step was a struggle to gracefully dodge someone or not trip on the uneven tile. Belle supposed this might be a nicer place if it was less crowded. Perhaps a Thursday night would be better? Swallowing her discomfort, she concentrated on making it to her father unscathed. Next time, she would insist on picking the location. She was a librarian. Librarians had respectable adventures with dragons and treasure and elves, not mad ventures into bars to meet semi-estranged fathers.

She wished Rum was here. His presence had become a comfort to her. Just having him next to her, invisible in his silk and leather, scales and snark. He would have something to say to keep her strong. And maybe it would be easier to deal with her father. She was certain Moe had the best of intentions, but their recent conversations had generally ended badly. Hopefully tonight would mark a new beginning.

"Here's your table, Miss." It was a booth for two, off to the side enough to be private, but not so much so that it seemed suspicious. And it was empty. Figures, that he would be late. She took off her coat and laid it on the bench before sitting next to it.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm waiting on a companion. If you'd please send him back here when he arrives."

"Of course, Miss."

At least the barman was pleasant enough. So far the evening wasn't too bad. Absently, she traced the patterns in the wood table with her finger. If only she had a notebook. She'd left all her things at home except for a tiny clutch. An idea grabbing her, she dug around in the clutch until she found a pen. There was a stack of napkins on the table, thankfully not the textured sort. She might not have the text of her story with her, but she could at least do some planning for later scenes until her father arrived.

Now that Graeme and Red had made things better between them, she could start on the real drama. If Regina would cooperate for a scene, she could establish her jealousy of Red and Belle…

She'd barely gotten more than a few lines down before her father slid into the seat across from her. "Just a minute…" she murmured, finishing off the line before looking up.

"Oh."

It wasn't her father seated across from her. It was Geoffry Stoddard.

"Hello Lisabelle," he said, a wide grin on his face. He never could seem to understand that she preferred "Belle". Actually, he never could seem to understand a great many things about her. "It's been too long."

"Hello Geoffry," she said crisply. "It's nice to see you too, but I'm meeting someone. We can catch up some other time."

"That's interesting," he said. "I was told you were coming here to meet me."

No. It couldn't be. Her mind tried to deny it, even though she had known the truth since she'd entered the bar. No, it had been even before that. Perhaps she'd known how this would play out since she spoke with her father outside the library. Belle closed her eyes to keep herself from taking her anger at her father out on Geoffrey. For she was undoubtedly furious with her father. She'd told him over and over that she wasn't interested in Geoffrey. He'd most likely told the poor boy that she wanted to meet him here. Why couldn't he understand that she didn't want Geoffrey? Sure, it wasn't like he knew she was interested in anyone else—she wasn't stupid enough to tell him about her crush on Mr. Gold—but that shouldn't matter. He should respect her wishes. And he didn't. Now she wasn't the only one who'd be hurt.

"Why is it you were going to meet me?" she asked, barely keeping her voice civil. Perhaps he just wanted to be friends. She could be friends with Geoffrey. They'd grown up together. They could get along.

"Your father told me you were interested in maybe getting together. He said something about being too embarrassed to ask me yourself, so he was calling me for you." Geoffrey looked distinctly uncomfortable. Belle didn't blame him. Realizing a girl's father set her up on a date she wasn't interested in had to be an uncomfortable situation indeed. As for her father, she was livid. How dare he do this to her? And not just to her, but to Geoffrey! As annoying as his attentions could be, Geoffrey was well-intentioned. It was cruel to raise his hopes only to have her dash them.

"My father told you wrong," Belle said, gathering her coat and standing to pull it on.

"Belle, wait." Geoffrey grabbed her wrist. "Stay at least? Just because we were manipulated into this doesn't mean we can't try."

Belle sighed and sat, but didn't take her coat off. She owed him a conversation, at least. She couldn't storm off in her anger at her father. He'd come to see her. They could at least talk things through. "Geoffrey… We've been friends most our lives. Can't things stay that way?"

"But it could be so much more," he said, taking her hands in his. "We'd get along together. I know we would. Isn't our friendship only another reason to continue? I'm not suggesting a fast relationship and marriage. Your father might push for it, but I'm willing to give you time. Please. Give me a chance."

Belle sighed. She hated hurting him like this. But he simply couldn't give up, could he? "You're a good man, Geoffrey," she said. "And one day you will make a woman very happy. It's just…"

"That woman isn't you," he finished. "Why not? Give me one reason. Give me one and I'll leave and never bother you again."

Could she tell him? Could she trust him? "I… I'm in love with someone else." There. She said it. Quietly, yes, shyly, yes, but she couldn't hide the small smile that grew on her face as she thought of Mr. Gold.

Whatever answer Geoffrey expected, it wasn't that. "Someone else?" he gasped. "Who?"

"I—I can't tell you," Belle stuttered. "Please. Let me go. That's my reason."

Geoffrey nodded, and Belle took her chance to go. As she buttoned up her coat, he asked, "Is he good to you?"

"Yes," Belle said without thinking. She didn't know where the answer came from, but she believed it with all her heart. "Please don't mention this to my father," she added as a precaution.

Geoffrey nodded sadly as she left him at the table. Meeting no one's eyes, she left the Rabbit Hole and started down the street. Instead of heading home, she started off towards the diner. She hadn't had any dinner, so she might as well get something. Maybe Ruby would be open for sympathy.

"Belle?" It was Killian. He wore a long black leather trench coat and had his guitar case slung over his back.

She stopped. "Hey," she said sadly, unable to muster the will to be more cheerful.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "What happened?"

"My dad stood me up."

"I'm sorry." He paused, awkwardly unsure of what was appropriate to say. "I'm playing tonight if you want to come listen. The evening is still salvageable—here's what: stay and I'll take you for dinner or a movie or something after my gig."

Belle smiled. He was such a gentleman when he wanted to be. "Thanks, but I don't really want to go back in there… Dad sent this guy he's been trying to set me up with for years instead," she confessed. "This is supposed to be my grand exit."

"Ah," Killian said. "Well then, I'll bid you adieu for tonight." He took her hand and lightly kissed the back of it. "Chin up." With a wink, he turned and entered the bar.

Belle continued on slowly, her head down and her hands in her pockets. The fact that Geoffrey had been there to meet her instead of her father shouldn't have been so much of a surprise. But despite her problems with her father, Belle had been hoping for an evening with him. It had been years since they'd properly spent time together. Now that wasn't likely to happen.

Rumpelstiltskin didn't appear as she walked down the street. She'd half expected him to. No, now she walked alone. After all, he was the Dark One. He most likely had better things to do than follow her around all the time.

The Pawn Shop was on the way to Granny's, but for once she didn't glace inside. It hurt too much to be on this side of those glass windows, never speaking to him. She lacked the courage to go inside, after all. She wanted to be brave, like the Belle in her story, but she wasn't. All she could do was admire Mr. Gold from a distance.

The dinner crowd had long departed by the time she made her way into the diner. Ashley was in Ruby's usual spot behind the counter—so much for sympathy from her friend tonight. Killian had made her feel marginally better, but now she was almost regretting that she didn't take him up on his offer. Perhaps sitting here moping over a cup of coffee wasn't the best idea after all.

She took a seat at the counter, setting her coat on the stool beside her. Ashley came over, smiling. "What can I get you?" she asked sweetly.

"A—a hot chocolate." She had been about to say coffee, but she really didn't want to stay up with her thoughts tonight. There was something comforting about the idea of rich, warm chocolate right now. It was exactly what she needed.

"Coming right up."

Too upset to make small talk, Belle rested her head in her hands as she waited for her drink. Ashley set it in front of her within a few minutes, kindly smiling before going about her business once again. Belle sipped slowly at her hot chocolate. It was smooth and relaxing. She hadn't ordered hot chocolate in years. Usually she got iced tea or coffee—or in extreme cases, alcohol. Hot chocolate was different. It was fun and reminded her of childhood winter days after playing in the snow.

The door to the diner rattled as it opened. Automatically, Belle looked over. For a fleeting moment, she hoped it would be Rumpelstiltskin before she remembered that he didn't need to come through the door. Instead, Sheriff Graham Blanchard was heading towards the counter.

"May I sit here?" he asked. His accent was rich and smooth, just like her drink.

"Sure." Belle smiled as he settled down on the stool next to her. She tried to control her excitement that he was here, so close. Her crush on Mr. Gold might be stronger than her one for Graham, but that didn't stop her from having trouble thinking around the sheriff. "What brings you here?"

"It's my break from work—a cappuccino and a piece of apple pie, please," he told Ashley. "And you?"

"Disappointing night elsewhere," she said. It was a decent summary of the evening. Graham didn't need to be bothered with the whole story.

"I'm sorry. At least coffee helps?"

"It's hot chocolate, but yes, it does help." She took another sip to demonstrate her point.

Graham smiled. He really did have a charming smile. "I should have thought of that when I ordered. But I've been dreaming of a cappuccino all day, so I suppose it's my better bet—thank you, Ashley." He took the drink and pie from her.

"Bad day?" Belle asked.

"No more than usual. Regina's enough of a headache most days."

"Right. She's your secretary. How is that?" She couldn't believe she'd forgotten that. True, Ruby was the gossip encyclopedia, but Belle was usually able to keep track of basic things.

"Difficult," Graham said.

Belle laughed. "Surely there's more to the story than that. How is she so difficult?" It wasn't that she didn't know what he would probably say—after all, Regina had inherited her mother's talent for sticking her nose where it wasn't welcome—but she wanted to keep him talking to her. He might never know about this little fancy, but her night had much improved since his arrival.

"I still can't figure out how to fire her without getting fired myself," Graham said. He sighed. "It's not that she's a terrible secretary. She does her job well. The only problem is that she insists on buying me coffee instead of cappuccino. Doesn't matter how many times I tell her I hate coffee."

Belle grinned. Ruby was right then. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well that's a small issue."

"There's a big one?" She wasn't surprised.

"If being incapable of understanding the word 'no' is a big issue, yes."

"What do you mean?"

"She seems to think I'm lying when I say I'm not interested. If this keeps on much longer I'm going have to fire her for sexual harassment."

While this was typical Regina, Belle was still horrified. "Why haven't you sacked her yet, then?"

"Because Madame Mayor comes by every few days to check up on her work and finds nothing the matter. If I sack Regina without good reason, her mother won't wait too long to do the same to me." He took a bite of pie and chewed slowly, contemplating something. "I wonder what Regina would do if I had a girlfriend. Maybe she'd let up."

"Maybe," Belle said. She almost volunteered for the position, but once again her thoughts turned to Mr. Gold. What if he cared? What if there was something behind all those glances through the windows? If she started dating Graham, would it break his heart? There were too many unanswered questions.

"I'll have to ask Mary Margaret if there's anyone who'd be interested," Graham was saying.

"Ruby would."

"What?"

"My friend Ruby. She's a waitress here. She'd be willing to date you."

Graham looked rather shell-shocked by the idea. "She would?"

Belle nodded with a smile. "Ask her." At least Ruby could get her happy ending.

* * *

They stayed in the diner until Ashley kicked them out for closing. For a night that had begun so badly, it had continued well indeed. Graham insisted that he drive her home because of the cold. Belle had gone along with it, if only to spend more time with him. It was pleasant to talk with him. They got along well and had a good bit in common—books for one. Graham wasn't a huge reader, but he had a number of favorites he could discuss in detail, which was more than many could say.

On impulse, Belle hugged him on her doorstep. "Thanks for cheering me up."

"Anytime. Cappuccino is always better with company. And you really should do something about those trees blocking your driveway."

An hour later, showered and dressed in her softest pajamas, Belle curled up on her sofa with her laptop. It wasn't something particular that had been said, but she had an idea with where to take the story. After all, what if Belle and Graeme made a mistake? What if Red saw? Her plot with Snow White and Regina wasn't working out. Maybe she was going in the wrong direction. Maybe the love triangle between Belle, Red, and Graeme was the best way to go. Regina could still devise her schemes—there just needed to be more than only that going on.

She took a few minutes to gather her thoughts and find music that would work with the scene. If this worked, everything would smooth itself out.

Still, she couldn't erase or ignore that niggling feeling in the back of her heart, that this was not the story that needed to be told.


	12. A Frustrating Dilemma

**Finally, here is chapter twelve. Thank you so much for bearing with me through NaNoWriMo and delays. Thanks also to elli.O. for putting off her own NaNo to edit this :) Like I did for this chapter, I will try to put a preview of the next chapter up on my tumblr page sometime before it's posted. Enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

Mr. Gold rarely ventured out into Storybrooke. Mostly because he wasn't particularly well-liked. He considered himself to be a fair, but strict, landlord. His agreements were specific, airtight, and would be upheld with no exceptions. Apparently that made him cruel and heartless.

The other reason for his solitude was short with lovely brown curls. Belle French. A braver man than he would have spoken to her by now. Gold knew well enough that "coincidental" meetings weren't at all hard to arrange. That braver man would also be young, handsome, kind—more worthy of her. Despite Gold's care that his only interaction with Belle took place through a glass window, they had still managed to run into each other—quite literally. That ought to have been the moment to talk to her, but instead he had hurried along his way. Only to spend the rest of the day smiling at the memory of her. (And thus terrifying his tenants even more than usual.)

He wanted to meet her. He wanted to leave the shop and talk to her. To hear the sound of her voice directed at him with full knowledge of who he was. There was no one in Storybrooke who would truly talk with him. But Belle would. He knew it. With his mind he knew that now was not yet the time. And so he told his aching heart.

With all luck, just a little bit longer.

* * *

"Something the matter, Sorceress?" Hook asked. Regina shot him a deadly glare. She wasn't in the mood. "I take it something is the matter, then," he said, coming to sit next to her.

Snow, Charming, and Red sat at the campfire, talking and laughing. They looked nauseatingly cheerful. Not willing to fake merriment at the moment, Regina had retreated to sit against the cliff wall they were camped beside. Around her were dozens of newly-formed orange and red mushrooms of various sizes. It was a simple spell with a small price, so she used it for practice. It wouldn't do anyone any good if she fell out of practice.

"You're crushing my mushrooms," she said irritably. Usually, she got along with Hook the best out of her comrades—both of them were more interested in results than noble methods. The Huntsman was rather like them in that. Well, not when it came to people at least. He wouldn't hurt an innocent. Regina had learned the hard way.

"Hang your mushrooms," Hook said. "I came to point something interesting out to you."

"Get on with it then." All her attempts to further her plans so far had failed. Graeme was still fixedly in love with Belle and not her. And he was being nice to Red. Snow was still disgustingly happy and in love. Belle was still a little angel in Charming's eyes. At least Regina had managed to convince Charming she wasn't a complete monster.

None of them understood. She needed this position. Without this she was nothing. She had no title, no home. Only her reputation as a feared sorceress. She had power. She had talent. It would be no better than a crime to let her waste away her days in the Castle. She could do so much more. Her mother had wanted her to be Queen. If that couldn't happen, then at least she could be someone important.

"Look at the campfire," Hook said. "What do you see?"

Regina glared at him. "If this is one of those idiotic philosophical—"

"It's not. Just tell me."

She sighed. "Their Highnesses and Red. What about it?"

Hook's grin was rather terrifying. "Now who _isn__'t_ there?"

"Belle and Graeme—ah." She let herself smile. The magic in her rose with her emotions, faint purple sparks coming from her fingertips. "Thank you, Captain. You have been most helpful."

* * *

She heard Graeme before she saw him. He'd followed her out here from the camp. It seemed her assumption that no one would notice her absence had been foolish. Of course he would notice. More than ten years of loving someone didn't vanish in a day.

"Belle?"

"I'm here," she said quietly. He would hear. He'd spent years training his senses to find the smallest of game in the woods. He could pick out her voice.

He came and sat next to her on the fallen log. The last bits of sun were fading quickly and the forest was dimmer than the sky above. The trees cast long, deep shadows on the ground. Belle didn't look at him. Looking at him would mean remembering.

"Belle?" Of course he would be confused why she was silent. She would usually greet him with at least a word if not a touch or kiss. Though now, she supposed, none of their usual things could exist. It wasn't just that they were no longer allowed to marry. Their entire relationship was destroyed. Belle didn't know how to talk to him anymore, and she could tell he was just as clueless. The friendship they'd had was gone now.

"Why are you here, Graeme?" She choked a bit on his name. His name used to be precious to her. She would whisper it to herself and smile. Now it was just a reminder that this was all gone.

"I didn't want you to be alone."

Belle tried to be strong. She ought to have turned him away then, stood and gone back to camp. But it was the same rich, accented voice that had always been there beside her. She had always found his voice terribly attractive, but it was also a comfort, a source of strength when she had no more. She turned to look at what little she could see of him in the dimming light.

"I know I shouldn't," he said. "But—"

"I know." She laid her hand over his. "Thank you."

He sighed. "Red and I talked properly this morning."

"That's good." She grinned. Her love for him wasn't a selfish love. Of course, she'd rather he be with her "Are you…"

"We're making it work."

"Thank you." She knew Red deserved it. Especially after the loss of Peter, Red needed someone by her side. She was estranged from her only living relative—her grandmother—so she had no one. Belle and Snow couldn't be there all the time. "I wish you both all the happiness—"

Graeme pressed his finger to her lips. "Please don't."

"You don't want my blessing?" Her lips slid over his finger with each word. She wasn't technically kissing him, but it was close. Too close.

He took his hand away, not meeting her eyes, a faint blush visible across his cheekbones. Belle understood. Neither of them should have enjoyed that as much as they did. "Someday," he said. "Someday I will gladly accept it. But not yet."

_Not when we__'re alone together like this_, she finished in her mind. His pain was so raw, so plain to her. He'd never tried to hide his feelings from her. She had always been welcome in his private world. Now, she wished more than anything that he would close up. Distance would make everything easier, wouldn't it? "Look," she said crossly. "I'm trying to be—" She searched for the word. "—_responsible_ about all this."

"You're succeeding," he growled.

"What would you rather me do?" She wished he would go away. She wished he wouldn't look at her like that—like he wanted to ignore their present situation entirely.

"I—"

* * *

"_He leaned forward, waiting, giving her time to turn away. But she couldn__'t. His lips met hers and she nearly sighed in relief. It had been too long without him. Logically, this was a terrible idea, but feeling had taken over and she could only cling to him, delighting in the taste of his kiss that…_"

Belle sat back in her swivel chair, frowning. Everything had been going fine. Now all of a sudden she couldn't write. What could come next? It was as if she had suddenly run smack into a brick wall. She tried to retype the kiss, but there was nothing that worked. And where could she go from there? Writing seemed like the hardest thing in the world.

She glanced at the clock. 9:48. It wasn't too late. Maybe some coffee would help. She hauled herself out of the chair. As she went through the motions of making the drink, she tried to focus her thoughts on the story. But her characters and plots had become like water slipping through her fingers every time she tried to grasp them.

She sat up on the counter while the coffee maker fizzed and gurgled. The rich smell filled the apartment, sadly not helping with her feeling of boredom. She thought about calling Ruby, but didn't. Ruby wouldn't understand. Even though the rational thing to do would be to just keep writing, the words wouldn't come. The fountain within her that had been flowing words for the past few weeks had abruptly shut, leaving Belle alone.

The coffee finished brewing and Belle collected the mug, wrapping her hands around it. She hadn't realized how cold it was in the apartment. Sure, the temperature had dropped, but she'd been too distracted to put that together with turning on the heat. Perhaps she was too cold to write. It was a desperate thought, but she turned on the heat anyway.

She sat in front of the computer to sip her coffee, as if sitting there would bring inspiration. She felt rather dead inside. There was no real explanation. Feebly, she attempted to type a few more words, only to delete them seconds later. She didn't really feel like doing anything. Even sipping her coffee required too much effort. For once, the books on her shelves didn't call to her. She could read, but there wasn't a story she wanted besides the one she couldn't tell.

Her coffee was gone all too soon, only a black-yellow ring in the bottom of the mug and a few extra grounds sticking to the sides. She got up to put it in the sink, not caring enough to wash it now. Maybe it was just too late for writing. If she hadn't had coffee, perhaps sleep would have helped. Regretting the caffeine she could already feel coursing excitedly through her, she stood in the middle of her apartment, looking around. Nothing interested her. Except her story. But it felt almost like hands were tugging her heart away from it. Whether they were maliciously holding her back or preventing her from wrecking everything, she knew not.

She bit the inside of her lip. She had to do something. There. Oven. Cookies. Chocolate would help writing, right? It wasn't just an excuse to eat. It would help her writing.

Digging the recipe out of the cupboard, she grinned to herself. Anticipation of warm, soft chocolate cookies filled her. It took her several minutes to assemble everything on the counter. She nearly had the recipe memorized from following it so many time, but she didn't quite trust herself to do it right. She read the first instruction: ½ cup of butter. There was the problem with impromptu cookies: softening butter.

She fetched a stick from the fridge, ignoring the feeling that she really should be writing and this was just an elaborate form of procrastination. She placed the butter carefully in the microwave, as if merely setting it in there would cause it to explode into a soupy mess. She started it with ten seconds, after which it was still rock-hard. Frowning, she put it back in a bit longer, ready to jump to the rescue at the slightest hint of soupiness.

Finally, butter properly softened, Belle continued with the recipe. She was rather lucky she had all the ingredients. The familiar task was calming and let her temporarily forget her writing problems. Or rather, just think about them in a more detached fashion.

This feeling wasn't totally foreign to her. In fact, it had described most of her attempts to write. Utter emptiness. A blank wall whenever she tried to type. The feeling of incurable boredom. A sudden fear overtook her and she forced her hands to be steady as the fears she had been able to ignore surfaced once more. What if this was the end of her story? What if inspiration never returned? What if the rest of her life was spent staring at the same blank ending to that kiss? What if those were the last words she ever wrote? What if these past few weeks became the closest she ever came to being a writer? What if it was all over?

Breathing deeply, she abandoned the cookie dough and leaned back against the wall. Eyes closed, she tried to calm herself. The words would come again. She had to believe it. Surely this short-lived passion wasn't all there was. And if it was, she'd find another story. She had to. The nerves were only because this was her first story. Perhaps stories were love. It seemed wonderful at first and then the insecurity and fear set in before anything could really be accomplished. Belle had always believed in true love. If her story was like that, she could believe in it too. Tonight was simply an off night. The disappointment that her father didn't show was throwing her off.

Feeling a bit better, she was able to finish off the cookies and set them in the oven. The overly obnoxious timer on her phone set, she returned to sitting in front of the computer. She tried rewriting the kiss. She tried reworking the scene. She tried skipping to immediately after the kiss. Nothing could get her past the brick wall she'd run into.

She switched windows over to the internet. She had several new e-mails and remembered Ruby saying something about an article she should read…

Still no words had been written when the timer went off. Belle took the cookies out of the oven and still wrote nothing as they cooled. She put a few on a plate and sat on the couch, unable to sit in front of her computer if she was just going to stare at the blank page again. The cookies were warm and soft and gooey. They stuck to her fingers and melted in her mouth. The chocolate was comforting, but, sadly, not particularly inspiring.

She barely blinked when Rumpelstiltskin simply appeared on the other end of the sofa from her. He always looked odd in his surroundings here. The leather and silk didn't go well with the worn fabric upholstery.

"You were absent tonight," she said, offering him a cookie off her plate. He took it gingerly and bit into it, smiling a bit at the sweet taste. What had he expected? Poison?

"I was," he confirmed. She waited for him to elaborate, but no answer was forthcoming. He wasn't even really looking at her.

"Come on," she said, trying not to take her bad mood out on him. "Don't be upset with me. It's in the outline."

He face instantly became guarded. "What's in the outline?"

"You know." She rolled her eyes. "The last scene I wrote. Belle and Graeme. Don't get grumpy with me about it. I can't control the ideas I get." She sighed. "But I'm stuck with the kiss. I haven't been able to write anything for"—she glanced at the clock— "nearly an hour."

He stood suddenly, the half-eaten cookie falling to the carpet. He was nearly shaking with held in fury. It was terrifying to behold. His emotional walls had gone up in a single moment and one scaled finger pointing at her accusingly. "What did you do?"

"Don't get all upset," Belle said defensively. "I had an idea for this love triangle between Red and Belle and Graeme. But it's not like you didn't already know that."

"Know?" His voice was shrill and cutting. "I know? I didn't know, dearie. I'm not the writer."

"Well now you do," Belle said, filing away the information for later consideration. Now she had to convince her character not to blow up her living room with jealousy. "Now sit back down and help me think how to finish this."

"Finish this?" he repeated. His anger was only growing with each second. For the first time, Belle actually felt a flicker of fear. He was the Dark One. And she had angered him.

"Yes," she said, willing herself to remain calm. "The kiss. Come on. I'm stuck."

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" he spat. Then he vanished, leaving behind only tendrils of purple smoke tinged with scarlet.

* * *

Shortly after Rumpelstiltskin's overly dramatic exit, Belle went to bed. There was no point staying up any longer if no writing was going to happen. Sadly, things weren't any better the next morning either. She went about her day as usual, just without writing a single word. It was frustrating, but fortunately there was enough going on to otherwise occupy her mind.

She arrived home late after closing the library and dinner with David and Mary Margaret. Things were progressing nicely towards their wedding. Mr. Nolan didn't seem to have come any closer to accepting it, but at least he wasn't making a fuss anymore. It had been a relaxing evening. The sort she wished had happened the night before with her father—but thinking such things wasn't going to help anything.

Her laptop sat on the desk, surrounded by little notes and scraps of writing. She ought to go write. Perhaps now that she was in such a good mood, she'd be able to make some progress. Still, something held her back. She wasn't sure what, but it was as if she knew that if she sat down, she wouldn't be able to add to her story at all.

So she ended up on the sofa, staring at the wall. Going to bed now would be good. She'd been low on sleep lately. But that would mean going to bed without writing anything all day. She didn't want to do that.

She was sitting curled up in the corner of the sofa when Rumpelstiltskin appeared in her desk chair. It was rather impressive that he could materialize sitting perfectly like that and not end up sprawled on the floor. It must have taken practice, or maybe it was just more talent and balance than Belle would ever have.

"I didn't expect to see you back so soon," she said dryly. "Over your dramatic exit?"

"I see you haven't written anything," he replied, just as coolly. His fingertips drummed against each other, elbows resting on the arms of her swivel chair.

"Yes, well, the words will come eventually."

He gave a little laugh. "Will they now?"

"You're just bitter because you're not the main love interest. Get over it. It's been decided." She really wasn't in the mood to deal with him right now. Well, maybe she had been in a good mood, but it was spoiled now. Thanks to the glittery imp in her swivel chair.

"What makes you so sure?" he asked. Belle rolled her eyes.

"I'm the writer. I decided. End of story," she said, regretting her word choice as soon as it left her mouth and he began to laugh.

"End of story indeed. You can't add to it."

"What does it matter to you?" Belle snapped. "Maybe I'm done with the story now. Maybe I want to end it there."

His grin was infuriating as he stood. "Oh dear," he said, looking too gleeful for the words. "Oh dearie, dearie, dear. You don't mean that."

Belle settled with a glare as the best form of response. "Fine. I don't. I take it you have a brilliant suggestion, don't you?"

"Not a suggestion, dearie," he said. "A new perspective."

_Oh great_, she thought. Why couldn't her imaginary friend be lovely and supportive like everyone else's. Why did he have to be annoying and superior and…. and _right?_

"Go ahead. What is it?" she asked.

He sat back down in the swivel chair with a flourish. "You're going about this story the wrong way," he said. "You still think this is your story."

"It is my story," Belle said, confused. How could he manage to confuse her if he was part of her subconscious?

"Your story? Oh no, it's real, dearie. Very real."

Belle rolled her eyes. "Of course it's real for you. You live there. But for me? It's a story, Rum. Nothing more."

He didn't respond, but sat there grinning at her, a hint of something dangerous in his eyes. It was… unsettling.

"So that's it? That's your excellent advice?" She felt a little bad about taking her frustration with her story out on him, but if he would just be helpful it wouldn't be so easy.

"Well what you're doing isn't working, is it?" he hissed, leaning forward in his seat. "Try something different."

"Like what? Something where you and Belle end up together?" Really, who's great idea had it been to entertain him? She shouldn't have to put up with this. He was after one thing and one thing alone: his happy ending. But he wasn't the hero. Snow White was. He was a minor character. Happiness was not guaranteed anywhere. He had no right to complain about it either.

"I want you to follow your instincts." He sat back in the chair, some of his fury gone. His expression was suddenly guarded, closed off from her. It was almost as if he was hiding something from her. But that wasn't possible. She knew everything about him, didn't she? "Don't try to deny it," he continued. "A love triangle might make a good plot, but we both know that's not the story you're trying to tell."

"Maybe it is. You don't know that." Even to her own ears, Belle sounded like a petulant child.

"Actually, I do," he said, a smug grin returning to his face. "You've been kind enough to remind me that I'm inside your mind on more than one occasion."

She paused, unsure if she'd heard correctly. "You admit it then? You're not real?"

"Oh, I never said that, dearie."

Impossible. He was impossible. Belle took a deep breath before speaking. "So what's your suggestion? What will fix… this?"

"You need to let go of your ideas," he said, taking on a theatrical stance. "You know what this story is—you've done a fine job ignoring it for weeks. But now the moment has come. You can't do that anymore."

"What in the world are you talking about?" She was too tired to deal with dramatic characters. Sadly, she hadn't been tired until he showed up. She leaned back into the couch and rubbed her forehead with her hand.`

He stood and came to rest a hand on her arm. "The story is there, inside your mind. It's playing in front of you," he said, his voice lyrical, as if describing a dream or work of art. "All you have to do is reach out and write what you find."

Belle sighed. He just didn't get it. "Of course it's all in my mind. I'm making it up," she said, her voice weary from repetition.

He gave a small laugh. "You only think you are."

"Go away," she said, sitting up properly and shaking his hand away. "You're just being confusing."

"Is that what you really want, dearie?" His voice was soft. It gave nothing away. It was impossible to tell if he was saddened or relieved. And after his outbursts tonight, Belle didn't trust herself to assume one way or the other.

"Probably not," she admitted. "But if you're not going to be helpful, go."

"Denying the truth won't make it false," he said in that same neutral voice.

Belle took a deep breath, but looked him in the eye and stood firm. "You're crazy—it's all crazy," she said. "Go."

And with a bow, he did.


End file.
